


The Book of Abramelin

by WaywardLiliana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Eventual Smut, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Occult, Post-Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll, Scotland, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural), Vacation, Whiskey & Scotch, deancaspinefest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardLiliana/pseuds/WaywardLiliana
Summary: Team Free Will 2.0 takes a vacation to Loch Ness on a whim after Michael lets Dean go. Sam wants to honor Bobby by looking for Nessie, Jack is excited to do human things, Dean grumbles the whole way, and Cas, well of course Cas is there, because he always is. But a vacation with these idiots can never be just that, and when they stumble on a case with a Led Zeppelin connection, Dean can’t resist. Along the way, people need to be saved, things need to be hunted, and maybe, just maybe, Dean and Cas will find their way to each other.





	1. Rock and Roll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time coming but here it finally is. Huge thanks to everyone who helped and encouraged me along the way, especially my incredible betas: tricia_16, Pinkmink, and Jess. Also to Cass (imogenbynight) for her unending support and patience - truly the best modmom. And thank you to my incredibly talented artist and beta - almaasi. I've loved working with you! Enjoy and as always, please leave comments - I love to hear from you! Edited to add that this is canon divergent in the sense that Michael left Dean voluntarily after the end of season 13 - so basically this fic ignores the existence of season 14 ;)

_ It's been a long time since the book of love, _

_ I can't count the tears of a life with no love. _

_ Carry me back, carry me back, _

_ Carry me back, baby, where I come from. _

_ It's been a long time, been a long time, _

_ Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time. _

Dean had lost track of how many different forms of transportation they had taken to get to Loch Ness. Okay, so he was drunk for nearly the entire journey because planes really weren’t his thing, and the less he experienced the whole ordeal, the better. Cas got the window seat since he definitely wouldn’t be sleeping, and somehow they had ended up sitting next to each other on every flight. Cas had offered his angel mojo to help Dean sleep, but he refused, saying he’d rather do it the old-fashioned way. After a confused head tilt and a sickeningly graphic explanation of exactly how likely they were to die in the event of a plane crash, based on the location of their seats, Dean told Cas to shut up. He ordered Sam and Jack to ask the flight attendants for booze too, and then helped himself to theirs. Pretty soon he was passed out, the tray table in front of him littered tiny empty bottles.

Shockingly, not that many people want to get from Lebanon, Kansas to Loch Ness, Scotland, but after what felt like an eternity on the road, he, Sam, Cas, and Jack were finally standing on the shores of the most famous lake in Scotland, freezing their asses off in the wind blowing off the surface of the water. Scottish summers didn’t quite live up to the name, something no one had thought to check when they were throwing clothes into their bags at the last minute, and Dean was sobering up pretty quickly.

At least he could admire the view while his head was clearing. Lush forested hills sloped gently down to the murky blue water, and Dean thought the ruined castle that looked like it was crumbling into the lake was pretty awesome. But he was still feeling fragile after the drive, which Sam had enjoyed a little too much. Dean took one look at the tiny European car at the rental place and declared there was no way he was driving that thing. So Sam had taking over driving duties, bracing one of his long legs against the car door, and throwing the car around one too many corners. Dean’s stomach, full of alcohol and airplane food, finally gave up halfway between Edinburgh and Loch Ness. He yelled at Sam to pull over and practically fell out of the front seat onto the lonely Scottish roadside.

Cas had gotten out to check Dean was okay, prompting Dean to growl, “If you say ‘I told you so’, I swear…”

But the angel stayed silent, and from where he was crouched on the side of the road, Dean swore he saw Cas’s mouth curl up on one side with the slightest hint of a smile as he leaned against the car door. The wind whipped his trench coat around his thighs, and it really wasn’t fair how good he looked. Dean felt himself break out into a cold sweat, and he tightened his grip on the stone wall jutting into his thigh, hoping the dull grey sky would stop spinning.

That’s when Dean really started to regret being talked into the trip. After Michael had held up his end of the deal and left Dean’s faculties intact, Team Free Will 2.0 suddenly had some free time. Lucifer was dead. Jack was human and doing an okay job of dealing with it. Michael had gone up to Heaven to take control - eventually they were going to have to face that situation - but for now? For now, they needed a break.

The trip to Loch Ness had been Sam’s idea. Once he’d gotten sick of cataloguing items in the bunker and cleaning weapons, and followed by a night of heavy drinking, Sam and Dean were drunkenly reminiscing about Bobby. Sam remembered Bobby’s obsession with the Loch Ness monster, and launched into a drunken monologue about how they should investigate one of the greatest mythical creatures of all time. Not-Bobby had wholeheartedly approved, promising to stay and look after the bunker with Mom. Dean didn’t want to think about what they were doing while the kids were out of the house, but they both seemed happy so he kept his gagging to himself.

“So get this.” Back on the lake shore, Sam’s voice pierced through Dean’s hangover and he winced. “There have been sightings of Nessy since the sixth century and-”

“Sam,” Cas interrupted, “I can tell you definitively that there is no monster in this lake.”

“Aww come on man, don’t ruin it,” Sam gave Cas his best puppy dog eyes. “The whole point is not knowing whether she’s really there or not - it’s more fun that way!” The angel sighed affectionately, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat. Sam was about to start his Nessy lecture again when an unholy noise came from where Jack was standing. He looked down at his stomach with surprise.

“Sorry, I guess I need to eat again.” Jack was still getting used to inconvenient human things like sleeping and eating. Sometimes he forgot altogether, but Dean was always there to guide him to the bunker’s kitchen, and make him sit at the wooden table while Dean whipped something up for him. To be honest, Dean loved feeding people, but he especially loved feeding Jack. It was something simple he knew he could do. And it distracted him from Cas’s more or less permanent presence in the bunker, something he’d wanted for a long time, but was turning out to be an exquisite form of torture.

“Alright, I’m calling it. Let’s find a place to stay and then let’s find a bar.” Dean turned to reclaim the front passenger seat, the only place in the car with even a tiny bit of leg room.

“In Scotland they’re called pubs. And I think you’re going to love them.” Sam opened the driver’s side door and proceeded to fold his ridiculously long legs under the steering wheel. Dean rolled his eyes at his know-it-all brother and, with Cas and Jack in the back seat, they set off for the nearest town.

Foyers was a small settlement on the lake’s less busy eastern shore. It wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, but there were a few small inns and restaurants nestled in the forest. They picked one that seemed cheap and cheerful, despite the rooms looking like Grandma’s house on steroids, what with all the floral prints and quilted leather sofas. If the middle-aged woman with a kind face who ran the inn thought four grown men checking in together was odd, she didn’t say so. They ended up arguing about who would sleep where, since the inn only had two double rooms free. Dean was so used to sharing with Sam that he just assumed it would work out that way, but there was the added complication of Cas, who didn’t need to sleep, and Jack, who now did. They got their bags out of the car and stood in the slightly musty hallway outside the two rooms.

“I can watch over all of you while you sleep,” Cas was saying in that deadpan way of his, like it wasn’t a weird-ass thing to say. “Sam and Dean, you share a room, Jack can have the other one, and I’ll stand guard.”

“Come on buddy, we’re here on vacation. For once no one is after us. What’re you gonna do? Just stand outside our door being creepy?” Dean raised his eyebrows across the carpeted hall at his friend, looking a little too long at Cas’s profile. Maybe admiring the sharp lines of his jaw. He caught himself just in time, and rearranged his features into something he hoped wasn’t naked lust, as Cas turned his annoyed squint towards Dean.

“What would you have me do, Dean? Pretend to sleep? Perhaps I could wander around the streets of this small town, which definitely wouldn’t raise any suspicions.” Dean really hated that Cas now not only understood sarcasm, but knew how to use it.

“Uh, you two keep bickering. I’m pretty jetlagged so I’m gonna hit the hay.” Sam opened the door of the slightly larger room and threw himself face down onto one of the beds, his legs dangling off the end. He started snoring almost immediately.

Dean chuckled and turned to Jack. “Hey kid, put your stuff in the other room and let’s go get some grub. Cas, you comin’ with? Or do you need to watch over Sleeping Beauty here?”

Cas sighed crankily and Dean couldn’t keep himself from thinking how adorable it was. Not for the first time, he wondered where the hell that thought had come from.

“I will go with you. I’d like to see one of these pubs.”

Foyers wasn’t so much a town as a collection of buildings nestled in the woods between the main road and the lake. It was mid-afternoon but Sam had said pubs served food even between meal times, so the three of them walked the leafy roads until they saw another inn that had a pub attached to it. As they opened the glass-panelled door, Dean knew right away he was going to like pubs. Maybe it was the smell of stale beer and grease, or the slightly dank and stained carpeting, combined with wooden beams and beers on tap that Dean had never heard of, but he felt right at home.

“Grab a table and I’ll get us some food and beers,” Dean motioned at Cas and Jack, who were both looking a little lost. A few locals turned to stare at the three of them. Dean guessed they didn’t get many strangers wearing flannel or trench coats instead of the usual tourist uniform of t-shirts, shorts, and fanny packs. Cas noticed the staring and gently steered Jack towards a quiet booth in the back.

Despite barely being able to understand the accent of the guy who took his order, Dean asked for three pints and three burgers, even though he knew Cas wouldn’t eat his. As he waited to settle up, he looked around and noticed two old guys who looked like they had permanent spots at the bar. They were muttering softly but Dean caught snatches of their conversation.

“Isla shouldn’t’a been pokin’ round that house…”

“Still she didna deserve…”

“Nothin’ good’s ever happened up there, and since the fire, it’s only gotten worse…”

“Right buncha dafties goin’ up there after all them devil-worshippin’ stories…”

_ Come on, Dean, you’re supposed to be on vacation. _

Too late. He sidled up to one of the guys, who was sporting a truly epic moustache. Dean put on his most charming dumb tourist smile. The old men abruptly stopped talking and stared into the bottoms of their pint glasses.

“Excuse me fellas, but me and my friends just got into town and I couldn’t help but overhear you two. We’re real interested in local stories and this one sounds like a real doozy.”

“Aye you’d best steer clear, laddie.” Mr. Moustache returned to his pint but Dean was officially curious now.

“Who’s Isla? And where shouldn’t she have been poking around?”

The old man sighed and turned back to Dean. There was an edge to his voice this time.

“She’s dead. And you woudna be far after if you don’t stay away from Boleskine House.”

Well that didn’t sound ominous at all. And the name of that house... it was ringing a bell. Dean wanted to keep asking questions but his beers were ready and the old men were staring daggers at him, so he nodded at them and headed back to the booth, balancing the three room temperature pint glasses in his hands. He set them down, beer sloshing over the rims onto the slightly sticky table. Dean slid into the booth next to Cas, who was eyeing his beer suspiciously.

“Dean, I didn’t want any beer.”

Dean grinned and reached across Cas to grab his beer and slide it next to the glass already in front of him.

“More for me, then.”

Jack took a tentative sip from his glass and grimaced.

“People really like this?”

Dean took an enormous gulp, nearly draining half his glass in one go. The amber liquid snaked into his stomach, warming him up a bit.

“You’ll get used to it. Then we’ll try whiskey next,” Dean said with a wink, and turned to Cas. “Hey, I know we’re supposed to be on vacation, and Sam’s really not gonna like this, but I think there might be a case here.”

Cas, who had been less than enthusiastic about the whole Nessie adventure from the start, sat up a little straighter and turned in the booth towards Dean. Just like that, the laser focus of his uncomfortably blue eyes was trained on Dean and nothing else.

_ Damn, I’m still not used to that. _

Dean cleared his throat and repeated the story he had heard at the bar. Cas was leaning forward with intense interest, and Dean almost didn’t want to stop talking, didn’t want Cas’s attention to drift away from him.

“And the name of the house... I know I’ve heard it before.” Dean paused as he tried to remember.

“Yes, and I believe I know why. Boleskine House was owned by the occultist Aleister Crowley, who supposedly used it to conduct black magic rituals. It’s even thought that he summoned demons there. But it is probably familiar to you because it was also once owned by Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page,” Cas finished with a proud smile.

“Shit, Cas, you’re right. How--  _ Why _ do you know that?”

_ And why is it so hot that he knows that? _

Even though he was pretty sure angels didn’t blush, Dean could’ve sworn he saw Cas’s cheeks turn faintly pink as he answered.

“Led Zeppelin is important to... to your family. After you gave me the... I wanted to learn about the band.” Cas had tripped over his words a few times, Dean noticed. He was secretly pleased that Cas had taken his introduction to Dean’s favorite band so seriously.

Jack gave Cas one of his Bambi looks. Dean’s cheeks were heating up as he thought about the mixtape he’d given Cas not long before he’d lost him. Or maybe it was just the two pints of beer he’d downed without really noticing. There was a weird tightness in his chest. He’d never gotten around to asking Cas if he still had the tape. Luckily their burgers appeared before Dean could ask or say anything else dumb about feelings, so he stuffed his mouth with delicious meat. Cas, as always, slid his plate over to Dean.

Jack polished off the last of his fries (chips, Cas informed them) and turned eagerly towards Dean. “I’d love to get some more hunting practice.”

Dean grinned at them both around the burger in his mouth. A good old-fashioned hunt. It was just what they needed.

“Well, alright then. Let’s go wake Sammy up. Right after we finish these burgers.”


	2. Black Dog

_I gotta roll, can't stand still,_   
_Got a flamin' heart, can't get my fill._   
_Eyes that shine, burnin' red,_   
_Dreams of you all through my head._

“Dean, this better be worth it,” Sam said grumpily as he pushed his sodden hair back from his forehead. A fine mist had floated off the lake in the early evening, clinging to every surface with an unpleasant dampness.

“Come on, Sammy, where’s your sense of adventure? A haunted house with a Zeppelin connection? Definitely sounds like our kinda thing,” Dean smirked as they trudged up the muddy private road towards Boleskine House.

“Yeah, yeah.” But Sam was grinning as they rounded the last corner. Dean knew his brother couldn’t resist a hunt.

Sam had insisted on doing some research before they left the inn’s wifi behind. There was a history of unexplained deaths and strange occurrences at Boleskine House, even before Aleister Crowley (“Weird coincidence,” Sam had remarked) bought it in 1899. The supernatural events continued even after the house changed ownership multiple times. And in 2015, a fire had caused significant damage to the house, and it had been left in ruins ever since. Jimmy Page had barely spent any time there himself after buying the house in 1970, but thanks to Dean’s encyclopedic knowledge of Zeppelin trivia, they knew Page had bought the house because of the Crowley connection and his own interest in the occult.

“What about the dead girl? The old geezers in the pub said her name was Isla,” Dean said as he stood behind Sam, who was smashing away on the keyboard with his enormous fingers. Cas and Jack were perched awkwardly together on a green leather sofa that had creaked ominously when they sat down. Dean was trying not to think about how much they looked like father and son.

“Found her. Isla Young, just 18, a local girl. The police found her body inside the house, throat cut. They thought it was just your standard murder and it seems like they ignored the occult angle. A bunch of occult blogs are saying it was some kind of satanic ritual because of the history of the house.”

“Given the number of apocryphal stories about this area, perhaps we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” Cas’s gravelly voice was nearly drowned out by a loud squeak from the sofa’s springs as Jack got up to peer at the laptop screen.

“Cas is right, Dean. I mean look, I know Nessy’s probably just a made up story. People have been making up weird stories about this area for centuries. Maybe it was a garden variety nutjob with a flair for the dramatic. Nothing here points to any supernatural involvement.” Sam looked pleadingly up at Dean. “Besides, we’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Okay but, let’s at least go see the house. Jimmy Page used to own it! It’s a piece of Zeppelin history!”

As always, Sam couldn’t refuse Dean’s excited grin, and so here they were, walking through the woods. The warm summer day was starting to fade into a cool evening, and the mist was adding to the creep factor. Dean loved a good haunted house and he was practically giddy as they rounded a corner and the house came into view. It was a surprisingly small, white, one-story house set on a knoll in a clearing in the forest. It could even be described as charming or quaint, until you noticed the broken windows, blackened walls, and complete lack of a roof.

“This house does not look particularly evil,” Cas said, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

“What, did you think there would be a sign on the door saying ‘virgin sacrifices here’?” Dean snarked. Cas frowned back and turned to follow Jack, who was already walking around the house to where the main door was located, in the center of its u-shaped layout. He was about to reach for the heavy iron door handle when he hesitated and looked back at Cas.

“Do you think it’s okay to go inside? We don’t have permission. I don’t like breaking rules.” From where he was standing a few feet away, Dean could see the worry plain as day on the kid’s face.

Cas reached out to place a reassuring hand on Jack’s arm, and then placed his other palm on the charred wood of the front door, closing his eyes. The door flew open and a cloud of fine dust floated out. Dean repressed a snicker at the kid’s innocence and wondered how long it would last. For now, it felt good, the four of them together.

While Cas and Jack picked their way gingerly through the front hall, Dean followed Sam into the house through a hole in one of the walls and looked around at what was left of it. The fire and exposure to the elements had turned the house’s insides into a chaotic mess of furniture, clothing, disintegrating books, and scorched bits of ceiling. Sam reached down into a waterlogged pile of papers and picked up what looked like a small statue of a dog.

“Hey Dean, check this out. Hellhound?” Dean walked over and gingerly took the delicate black object from Sam. It was surprisingly heavy.

“Yeah, looks like.” It was a pretty crude representation of a hellhound, apart from one detail. Two small stones had been set into the creature’s snarling face. Eyes. They were flaming red. Dean was turning the object over in his hands when Cas shouted.

“Dean! Sam! We need to leave - NOW!” Cas came striding into the ruined drawing room, his jaw set, his eyes darting around the room. Dean’s head snapped up at the sight of the angel, coat billowing around him. Cas spoke through gritted teeth. “There is an evil presence in this house. We need to get Jack out of here.”

Something in Cas’s eyes told Dean everything he needed to know. He pocketed the hellhound figurine and nodded at Sam, who grabbed Jack’s arm and headed for the door. Just then, a slight breeze brought a familiar scent to Dean’s nose.

“Shit. Sulfur. Let’s go.”


	3. Houses of the Holy

_From the houses of the holy_   
_We can watch the white doves go._   
_From the door comes Satan's daughter._   
_And it only goes to show._   
_And you know._

_There's an angel on my shoulder._   
_In my hand a sword of gold._   
_Let me wander in your garden._   
_And the seeds of love I'll sow._   
_You know._

They walked back to the inn as quickly as they could, Jack chattering excitedly about demons the whole way. Cas was quiet, his eyes darting around constantly, angel blade by his side. Sam and Dean were silent too, and Dean knew his brother well enough to know they were thinking the same thing. How the hell were they going to go up against a demon, or demons, with only an angel blade between the four of them? They got back to their rooms just as a heavy fog enclosed the town in grim darkness.

So the stories about Aleister Crowley were true, or at least the part about him summoning demons. Dean was in the middle of mentally cursing himself for not bringing any weapons, when they got back to their room and Sam walked straight over to his bag. He unzipped the black duffel and pulled out Ruby’s knife. Dean gaped at his brother, his mouth opening and closing. He couldn’t decide whether to be pissed or grateful, so he decided on both.

“Don’t get me wrong, Sammy, I’m pleased as punch you decided to bring the demon-killing knife, but you made this huge deal about this being a vacation! I didn’t even bring my gun!” Dean tried unsuccessfully not to pout. “And how did you even get that on the plane?”

“I put a cloaking spell on it. Rowena showed me.” Sam shrugged, like it was no big deal, and reached into the bag again and took out the gleaming Colt, placing the ivory handle in Dean’s immediately outstretched hand.

If Dean hadn’t been so relieved, he might have punched Sam’s smug smile right off his face. Trusting Rowena to hide their weapons on a transatlantic flight? Sam must really have a soft spot for that red-headed witch. Dean sank down on the bed, rubbing his temples, and turned to Cas.

“What did your mojo tell you? Any details? Or just general evil sonsabitches?”

“The rumors about Crowley’s activities at the house were correct. I sensed a great evil there, remnants of an old power. As though something has been waiting there for a long time, and someone woke it up.” Cas glanced at Jack, and Dean caught the flash of intense worry on the angel’s face.

“I’m guessing this isn’t how most people’s vacations go.” Dean, Sam, and Cas all turned to look at Jack. He didn’t seem that upset about their family vacation turning into a work trip. In fact, he was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Nope, but this is how Winchester vacations go,” Dean responded and held Jack’s gaze. “But you, you’re stayin’ out of this one. And that’s final.”

Jack’s brow creased, he tilted his chin down, and squinted up at Dean. It was a look of pure determination and pigheadedness, one that Dean had seen plenty of times before. Except the eyes boring into him were usually an impossible shade of blue. Somehow Jack had inherited Cas’s stubbornness, even though they weren’t technically related.

“Dean, I know you’re worried about me. But I’m human now, just like you. Why is it okay for you to put yourself in danger but not for me?”

“He’s got a point, Dean,” Sam added helpfully, and Dean glared at him. While he was trying to come up with an argument, Jack turned his attention to Cas, and waited for his objection, but none came. Satisfied, Jack stood up, his jaw set.

“I want to help.”

Every instinct Dean had was screaming at him to say no. But, and he was doing this more and more lately when it came to Jack, he wanted to check with Cas first. “Hey buddy, can we talk outside for a sec?”

Cas nodded, and together they left the room.

Dean stood in the narrow hall, with Cas across from him, just a little too close as usual. The angel’s face was all sharp angles and shadows thrown by the harsh lighting. He stood still, waiting for Dean, who was starting to feel pretty self-conscious under the weight of Cas’s stare.

_Why does he still do that?_

Dean reminded himself to focus instead of getting embarrassingly lost in Cas’s eyes. “Cas, man, are you really okay with Jack helping us out? We don’t even know what we’re dealing with, and it’s not like we’re back at the bunker with all our weapons and books, and the kid just became human. He’s barely a hunter-in-training, for fuck’s sake!” Dean searched Cas’s eyes for any indication of his feelings. Of course, there was none.

“Dean, I don’t think swearing is necessary in this instance,” Cas responded primly.

Dean swallowed his frustration and shook his head. “Come on man, tell me what you think.”

Cas sighed, his shoulders drooping a little, making him seem all too human. “I don’t want Jack involved in this any more than you do. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my time with you… Winchesters, it’s that it’s useless trying to stop the people you love if they’re determined to put themselves in danger.”

There was that damn word again. Dean felt that word like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t look at Cas after that word was left hanging between them. Cas cleared his throat awkwardly, and became very interested in the garish pattern of the hall carpet. When Dean couldn’t stand the uncomfortable silence for another second, he gave up. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Cas rolled his eyes, opened the door to Sam and Dean’s room, and motioned for Dean to go in first.

Sam looked up expectantly from the laptop.

“You two done having your little domestic spat?”

“Shut up, Sammy. What’s the game plan?” Dean sat down on his bed, and tried to ignore Jack, who was beaming at him from the squeaky sofa.

“It looks like Isla’s sister Kenna runs one of the local occult blogs. We should get in touch, see what she knows. I was checking social media and the kids around here like to hang out at the house, use it for parties. Maybe one of them knows something. It says here she works at that pub you guys went to.”

Sam turned the screen to show them a photo of a woman in her mid-20’s with crimson hair. She was looking back over her shoulder at the camera with a mischievous smirk.

Dean couldn’t help himself. “Well that shouldn’t be too much of a hardship.” He winked at Sam, who rolled his eyes but still grinned indulgently.

“Yeah I bet it won’t. Lemme guess, you want to interview the hot girl.”

“Maybe I should talk to her, after all, I’m closer to her in age,” Jack said eagerly.

“Slow down, now. Interviewing a witness can be tricky. How about you stick to research for now?” Dean tried to look authoritative. He was pretty sure it wasn’t working.

Jack’s face fell, but he didn’t object.

“I’m beat. Let’s sleep on it and go see her tomorrow. Cas, you ready to creep on us all night?” Dean quirked an eyebrow at the angel, and he could’ve sworn he saw the tiniest upward movement on the side of Cas’s mouth as he left the room.

_There, got him to smile._

Lately it had become a little bit of a personal mission of Dean’s to make Cas smile. He’d love to see him outright guffaw someday. But for now, Dean went to sleep with the memory of the slight curve of Cas’s lips fresh in his mind, and it was enough.


	4. Travelling Riverside Blues

_She's a kindhearted lady. She studies evil all the time_  
_She's a kindhearted woman. She studies evil all the time_  
_Squeeze my lemon 'til the juice runs down my leg_  
_Squeeze it so hard, I'll fall right out of bed_  
_Squeeze my lemon, 'til the juice runs down my leg_

Dean woke with a start. Weak sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the curtains. Sam was still snoring away on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. And a good thing he was too, because Dean was sporting some serious morning wood like a damn teenager, thanks to a pretty embarrassing dream involving Cas, a pair of fake angel wings, and the pretty girl with crimson hair whose photo he had seen on the internet. Cas was wearing the fake wings, and the girl had been giggling and stroking them as Dean watched. It wasn’t the first time the whole angel thing had played into Dean’s fantasies, and Cas actually appeared in Dean’s dreams uncomfortably often. Uncomfortable being the operative word. Dean crept out of bed and into the tiny bathroom, shutting the door gently behind him.

He needed a shower to get rid of the travel gunk. Turning the ancient tap, Dean hummed a Zeppelin song, trying to take his mind off what he had just been dreaming about. He stepped into the shower and closed his eyes, letting the hot water pound against his skin. The dream had gotten decidedly less innocent, and Dean’s mind wandered back to the weird threesome his subconscious had conjured up. He needed to do something about the hardness between his legs. No big deal - he jerked off in the shower all the time. So what if this time he was relieving the tension caused by a dream about his angel best friend and a redhead he didn’t even know? Dean leaned against the bathroom’s mauve tiles, his hand slowly pumping his cock.

Images of Cas’s blue eyes half-lidded with lust flooded Dean’s brain. Eventually the redhead had became more of a background player in the dream, with Dean taking her place, running his hands over Cas’s fake wings, feeling how soft the feathers were between his fingers, and leaning down to place soft kisses on the angel’s neck. Dean wasn’t sure how he knew this, but Cas loved having his wings touched. In the shower, Dean bit his lip to keep himself from groaning too loudly. The dream was only bits and pieces now, but he couldn’t forget how his hand had ended up in Cas’s pants, wrapped around his solid length, with their mouths pressed together, hungrily tasting each other. A strangled sound escaped Dean’s mouth as he came.

“You okay in there, Dean?” Damn his little brother and his excellent hearing.

“I’m fine - out in a minute!” Dean knew he sounded a little high-pitched but he hoped Sam couldn’t tell from the other side of the door over the sound of the rushing water. Dean was already embarrassed enough for one morning.

Dean thought he had recovered pretty well from the whole dream ordeal until he saw Cas at breakfast. They were sitting around a table in the inn’s chintzy dining room, the three humans devouring the traditional Scottish breakfast the inn’s owner had insisted they try. A stupid blush kept creeping up Dean’s cheeks every time he looked at Cas across the table, so he shovelled a steady stream of scrambled eggs, sausage, and something called black pudding into his mouth, hoping no one would notice his inability to look at his best friend without turning into a damn schoolgirl with a crush. Luckily no one seemed to notice, but that didn’t stop Dean from hoping the dingy carpet would open up and swallow him whole. Luckily Jack was too focused on his breakfast to notice anything and Sam was oblivious, telling them about his research between bites.

“So I did some more digging into Aleister Crowley last night. He bought the house in 1899 because he was looking for a place to carry out a series of rituals that would summon demons. He was a big deal in the occult world back then. He started his own religion based on this grimoire called The Book of Abramelin, and he started the rituals so he could contact his guardian angel. Once he summoned the demons, he was going to banish them, but he left Boleskine House and never finished.”

“It has happened before. Humans playing with powerful real magic without even knowing it. Which means the demons are still there,” Cas replied, and even though Dean was trying to avoid looking at him across the table, he snuck a glance and accidentally caught Cas’s eye. The angel raised an eyebrow at Dean, and he almost choked on a piece of sausage. As he coughed violently, his brain taunted him with images of white feathers and blue eyes.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas asked with genuine concern.

Dean nodded and reached for his mug of coffee, downing it. The molten liquid caused another coughing fit and his throat burned. Jack reached behind him and patted Dean gently on the back.

“It’s alright, Dean. We can handle a few demons. Sam’s been teaching me!” Jack was like a damn enthusiastic puppy sometimes.

“So maybe the demons were trapped inside the house with some kind of warding, then the fire destroyed it, and now they’re out.” Dean prayed Sam wouldn’t make a snarky comment about his choking episode.

“Perhaps the fire wasn’t accidental. Maybe someone wanted to release the demons,” Cas was stirring his coffee meticulously. He’d told Dean once that drinking coffee was one of the only human habits he liked to keep.

“Hang on a minute. Sam - didn’t you say the local kids like to mess around up at the house? Maybe they were up there partying, pretending to do black magic or whatever, and they accidentally started the fire that released the demons.”

“Whether they meant to or not, we need to find out if Isla’s sister knows anything. And what the hell this thing is,” Sam declared as he set the small hellhound with the glittering eyes on the table.

“Let’s split up then. Sam and I will talk to the girl and you two nerds can check the house again and look into that weird dog thing,” Dean instructed.

“Actually Dean, I’d really like to look into the lore on this. Jack can help. Why don’t you and Cas go talk to Kenna?”

Things had been awkward between him and Cas for so long now that Dean was almost used to it. So he shrugged as casually as he could manage and went back to cramming food in his mouth. He snuck a look at Cas who was frowning out the window.

“Hey so I was reading that Aleister Crowley was kind of a rebel in his time. He experimented with drugs and was openly bisexual. He practiced something called sex magick,” Sam went on excitedly.

Dean almost choked on his food again.

***

The pub didn’t open until 11 so they had some time to kill after breakfast. Sam and Jack went back up to the room to look into the origin of the hellhound figurine, so Dean and Cas went to check out the one village shop. Dean always liked to check out whatever tacky souvenirs were for sale in a new place. Plus he hadn’t exactly packed for the cold Scottish nights (“I thought it was supposed to be the goddamned summer!” he’d said enough times that even Jack had rolled his eyes) so he was trying to find something warmer to wear.

A few thick cable-knit sweaters (or “jumpers” as the store clerk said when Dean asked) sat hidden away in a corner of the crowded shop. He picked one out in a shade of forest green. Not something he’d ever wear at home but it was slim pickings here. Cas was a few feet away, examining a rack of postcards featuring blurry “photos” of the Loch Ness monster. Dean pulled the sweater on over his henley.

“Hey man, how do I look?”

Cas turned to look at Dean and his eyes went wide. Eventually, he swallowed.

“Uh, it looks, you look, good.” With that, Cas turned and practically ran out of the store.

Dean smirked to himself. It wasn’t the type of thing he normally wore but Cas’s reaction alone convinced him he needed to branch out from his usual jeans and flannels more often. He shrugged his jacket back on over the sweater, whipped out one of his many fake credit cards to pay, and then went outside to find Cas looking up at a sign pointing to a walking trail across the road from the store.

“The Falls of Foyers. According to the man from the shop, they’re quite spectacular. It’s where the River Foyers falls into a deep gorge before emptying into Loch Ness. We have time - we could go see them--” Cas hesitated, “--if you want.”

“You got that from the guy in the shop? Your social skills are improving, buddy,” Dean chuckled and slapped Cas’s back, letting his hand linger on the hard muscle longer than was strictly necessary. “Why the hell not? This is supposed to be a vacation.” Dean started down the steep path into the forest with Cas following closely behind him.

_Still with his personal space issues. Not that I really mind._

The path led deep into the forest, and as they walked in silence, the sound of thundering water grew louder. It reminded Dean a little of Purgatory, only without the monsters and never-ending blood. When the roar was nearly deafening, they emerged from the darkness of the forest to find themselves standing on a viewpoint that looked across the pool at the bottom of the falls. A narrow stream of water plummeted what must have been 150 feet before slamming into the nearly black water below. Dean let out a low whistle.

“Damn Cas. Good call. But if I’da known you were gonna take me on a romantic walk to a waterfall, I woulda dressed for the occasion,” Dean winked at Cas as he came to stand beside him next to the railing.

“Is observing nature together romantic? And I told you I liked what you were wearing.”

Dean gulped and tore his eyes away from Cas’s face. Looking at the waterfall was better than feeling like he was naked despite wearing three layers. Cas had never said anything about how Dean looked, except for that time he said he dressed like a lumberjack. And now here he was, standing ridiculously close to Dean, studying him with his laser eyes. Dean could practically feel the body heat radiating from under that stupid trench coat. And then it got worse.

Cas started to recite a poem.

 _“Among the heathy hills and ragged woods_  
_The roaring Foyers pours his mossy floods;_  
_Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,_  
_Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds,_  
_As high in air the bursting torrents flow,_  
_As deep-recoiling surges foam below,_  
_Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,_  
_And viewless Echo’s ear, astonish’d rends._  
_Dim seen, through rising mists and ceaseless showers,_  
_The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lowers._  
_Still, through the gap the struggling river toils,_  
_And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils.”_

He finished and turned to Dean.

“These falls inspired Robert Burns to write that poem,” Cas explained, never taking his eyes off of Dean’s.

“Well shit, Cas. A waterfall and poetry. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were tryna’ get into my pants,” Dean tossed this last part off with a teasing smile. Flirting came so easily to him, he was almost on autopilot. He felt very reckless.

This time, in the bright sunlight, there was no mistaking the blush that spread across Cas’s sharp cheekbones. Dean loved the way it looked. He could think of a few other ways to get the same reaction. Ways that involved less poetry and fewer clothes.

_Dammit Dean, get a grip._

“Dean.”

He never got tired of the way Cas said his name. Like it was all he ever wanted to say. With a reverence that made Dean uncomfortable and flattered at the same time. Dean wanted to hear him say it again and again, maybe whispered into his ear, warm lips brushing against delicate skin. A chill started up the side of his neck.

“If I wanted to get ‘into your pants’--” and of course Cas used his adorable air quotes - “I wouldn’t have thought that this particular scenario would be successful.”

There he was, all pissy angel again. Cas had turned away from Dean to look back at the waterfall. What the hell did he mean by that anyway? Dean leaned over the railing to stare into the blue-black water below. He felt a little dizzy. Damn his inability to not flirt with anything that moved. He checked his watch.

“We better go. The pub’ll be opening soon.”

“Yes. Of course, Dean.”

They walked back up the path in total silence, away from the sound of the rushing falls. 

There were no other customers in the pub when they walked in at exactly 11. At that time of day, the staleness in the air was even more pronounced, the remnants of the previous night’s excesses sticking to every surface in the shadowy rooms. It was dark and chilly - the fire wasn’t lit and what with it technically being summer, the heating didn’t seem to be on. Dean exchanged a glance with Cas, and silently, they agreed to split up. After all these years hunting together, he, Sam, and Cas were like a well-oiled machine. Jack, on the other hand, was best left doing research for now.

Dean headed for the dark wood bar, while Cas walked towards the rooms off to the side of the huge fireplace. Dean looked around as he made his way past a few tables. A black and white photo of a man with a bald head and menacing eyes wearing an incongruous bow tie hung on the wall next to the bar. Dean was trying to get a closer look when a voice came from behind him.

“Welcome - what canna get ya?” Dean turned to see the redhead whose photo they had found on the internet looking at him expectantly. The picture hadn’t really done her justice. Her hair was a flaming shade of red that shouldn’t exist in nature, but judging by her translucent skin and sage green eyes, it was all hers. Even in the dim light, Dean could see the dusting of freckles on her pert nose and the twinge of pink in her cheeks. Half-hidden behind the bar, enough of her curves in a pair of tight jeans and a faded Zeppelin t-shirt ( _Good taste_ , Dean thought to himself) were visible that he grinned lasciviously out of instinct. One side of her full lips curled up into a lopsided grin as she looked him up and down in return, and Dean knew he was in trouble. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll take whatever you have on tap that’s local, thanks.”

“Startin’ early?” She spoke with the lilting local accent that Dean was still struggling to understand.

“Yeah well, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” Dean answered as he perched on one of the bar stools.

“So you’re American,” she stated rather than asked as she pulled Dean’s pint.

“As apple pie,” Dean answered, flashing a megawatt smile. Maybe he could get her to open up. Flirting with hot bartenders was practically second nature to him. As she set the pint down in front of him on a coaster emblazoned with the brand of something called Irn Bru, her hand got a little too close to Dean’s and he could’ve sworn he felt a crackle of electricity. In her eyes was a challenge, almost like she was daring him to look away. Dean practically jumped when Cas appeared next to him, pulling up a stool and sitting just a little too close. Dean gave him a tiny nod and gulped down the beer, cursing himself for being such a damn horn dog.

“Well, two braw men come into my pub on a boring Tuesday morning. How lucky am I? And what can I get for ya, blue eyes?” She tucked a lock of copper hair behind her ear, and trained her formidable smile on Cas. He squinted grumpily back.

“I’ll just have tap water, please.”

After giving Cas his water, she turned her focus back to Dean.

“We don’t get many Yanks in here. Are you in town to see Nessy?”

“Yeah, kind of a family trip.” Dean cast a sideways glance at the angel, willing him to play along.

“Oh, are you two brothers? You certainly don’t look it.” She gave them each an appraising glance, tossed her hair and turned to bend down and get a hand towel from a cupboard behind the bar. Dean tried not to look, he really did. But he was only human, after all, and it was a perfectly rounded ass being presented to him on a damn platter. He caught Cas frowning at him from the corner of his eye.

“We are not brothers,” Cas said firmly.

_Huh, that’s interesting._

Dean took another sip of his beer. “We’re more of a blended family,” he hedged, trying to move the conversation away from his relationship with Cas. Because that particular can of worms did not need opening.

“My name’s Dean, and this is Cas. It’s nice to meet you...?” He stopped and waited.

She turned back to face him, and, after the tiniest hesitation, put down the glass she was drying and held her hand out to Dean.

“Kenna. And it’s lovely to meet you both.” He took her hand in his, and Dean felt a bolt of heat surge straight to his groin. Being in the same room with her and Cas was nearly unbearable given what he had been dreaming about just that morning. He needed to focus on the case.

“So uh, Kenna, we heard about the trouble in town. The murder up at Boleskine House,” Dean fished, trying to sound casual. Without their fake badges, he had to hope his natural charm would get her to talk.

Her eyes darkened. “My sister, you mean.”

Dean feigned ignorance. “Oh, was she your sister? I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Kenna replied, but she looked uneasy.

“It must be difficult, given the police have no leads,” Cas prodded, finally deciding to be useful.

“Yes, well, I’m sure they’re doin’ their best.” She turned to go into the small kitchen behind the bar and Dean could feel their chance slipping away.

“Wait, wait-” Kenna looked at him, questioningly, one hand on her shapely hip. “Sorry for bringing it up - we’re sort of true crime enthusiasts. We didn’t mean any harm.”

She sighed. “We get lots of folks round here askin’ about the house, the monster, all that nonsense. Normally I don’t mind but I dunna like bein’ part of the story, if you know what I mean.”

“Of course, I get it. We’ve heard the stories - we’re also big Zeppelin fans--” here Dean pointed at her t-shirt and Kenna smiled self-consciously - “is it true that local kids liked to use the house for parties?”

“They did, but it was harmless fun, really,” Kenna replied, reaching for a glass and pouring herself some whiskey. She took a long sip, licking her lips afterwards. Dean followed the small movement of her tongue across her lips. What were they supposed to be talking about? Oh right, murder.

“Was Isla one of them?” Dean went back to sit on the stool next to Cas, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

Kenna’s eyes slid briefly to the black and white photo Dean had been checking out when she came in. Dean made a mental note to take a picture of it with his phone so Sam could figure out who it was. She looked back at Dean, set her glass down on the bar, and slowly walked out from behind it. He turned on his stool to face her, and felt Cas’s eyes boring into his back. Kenna got so close, she was nearly standing between Dean’s open legs. She leaned an elbow on the bar, and locked eyes with Dean.

“My sister was a good girl, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s no story here. Now, I’d love to keep chatting with you lads but I’ve got work to do.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

Dean swivelled around on his stool to find Cas giving him a full-on death stare. He ignored it and got out his phone. After checking that Kenna was really gone, Dean snapped a quick photo of the man in the bow tie.

“She’s hiding something. Come on, man. Let’s see what Sam and Jack have been up to.”

Cas followed Dean wordlessly out into the weak sunlight.


	5. Whole Lotta Love

_You've been learnin', baby, I've been yearnin',_   
_All them good times, baby, baby, I've been learnin',_   
_Way, way down inside, honey, you need it,_   
_I'm gonna give you my love_   
_I'm gonna give you my love._

Sam and Jack had been busy. And hungry, because Dean and Cas returned to find the room littered with discarded snack packages and empty soda cans. Dean flopped down on his bed, feeling the effects of day drinking and jet lag, not to mention whatever the hell happened at the waterfall. Cas hadn’t said much on the walk back to the inn, and once they got to the room, he took his trench coat off, folded it carefully, and sat down on the squeaky sofa without a word. Sam noticed Dean’s sweater right away.

“That color looks good on you. I mean, you look like a grandpa, but it’s nice. So, what about the girl?”

“You first, man. I gotta rest my eyes,” Dean sighed, reaching down to take his boots off.

“So Jack and I have been doing some digging. There are legends about hellhounds all over England, but not in Scotland. We think it could’ve belonged to Aleister Crowley - it’s definitely old enough. It’s got some kind of hallmark on the bottom, but what’s weird is that it survived all those years in the house with different owners,” Sam finished, stretching his arms over his head and yawning.

“At least it’s not cursed, right?” Jack asked hopefully.

“I guess we would’ve found out by now if it was,” Sam answered. “Also, we talked to the owner of this place. Apparently two local men went missing recently. People are getting anxious - it’s a small town.”

“Huh. Possessed maybe?”

“That’s what we’re thinking. You struck out with Isla’s sister?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows.

“The opposite, actually. I mean--” Dean looked over at Cas, who was examining the carpet. “--she wouldn’t talk, but we got the feeling she was hiding something, right Cas?”

“You certainly found her very _interesting_ ,” Cas replied as he eventually looked at Dean, putting an emphasis on the last word that suggested he meant something else entirely. In his peripheral vision, Dean saw Sam raise his eyebrows and exchange a glance with Jack. Cas continued, “But Dean’s right, she was lying.”

“Sounds like we need to find out more about her. Let’s see if we can get into some of these online occult forums,” Sam went back to his laptop.

At some point during the next few hours, Dean fell asleep. No dreams this time, just sweet darkness. Occasionally he would wake up and hear Sam and Jack chatting in low voices, or see Cas leave the room only to have reappeared the next time he woke up. Dean finally checked his phone when he came to and it was dark outside. It was already after 9pm. Jet lag was the worst. He could hear Sam breathing steadily in his bed, and Cas and Jack were nowhere to be seen. Dean sat up, shaking the fog from his head. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he had picked up in the shop, and quietly ducked out of the room, heading through the winding hallways until he was finally outside the dining room on a small brick terrace facing the lake.

Dean was grateful for the green sweater. There was definitely a chill in the air at this time of night. He sat down in one of the wrought iron chairs and, sipping his whiskey straight out of the bottle, looked out over the grassy slope that ended in a dark patch of forest. He could see a sliver of lake just beyond the trees, glimmering in the moonlight. If his body clock was going to be all messed up, at least there was a nice view. He needed to clear his head. He had gotten distracted today, by Cas, by Kenna. He couldn’t afford to not be on top of his game, especially now with Jack powerless and basically a full-grown baby. But his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar presence.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas rumbled, pulling up a chair to sit beside him.

Well shit. So much for no distractions.

“Hey buddy. Came out here for some air. My sleep schedule’s whacked.” Dean caught a perfect glimpse of Cas’s sharp profile, all crisp angles and hollow cheeks in the dim light. The angel was frowning out at the lake, his hands clasped in his lap. Dean gestured at him with the whiskey bottle.

“Want some? Sorry no glasses, but I don’t mind swappin’ spit with an angel,” Dean grinned, then blushed a split second later when he realized what he’d actually said. Cas raised an eyebrow, but took the bottle from Dean, their fingers brushing ever so slightly.

“Thank you, Dean. Alcohol has little effect on me but I’m happy to share a drink with you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Dean took occasional swigs from the bottle, enjoying the warm glowing feeling in his insides. Cas always seemed to know when Dean needed his presence and nothing more. So much had happened over the past few months, and he hadn’t had a minute to just be still. Dean had been skeptical about the trip, but now that they were here, staring together in silence at Loch Ness, probably not home to any monsters, he felt something close to contentment.

Being possessed by Michael had changed Dean forever. After riding shotgun with an archangel, getting a taste of that awesome power, Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at anything the same way again. Even Cas. He’d never been able to face Cas’s angel-ness head on before. Cas had rebuilt Dean from the soul on up. Dean didn’t like to think about it too much - the fact that this celestial being knew him inside out. It had been easier to just think of Cas as a guy, an ally, a friend. But now Dean knew it was impossible for Cas to see things the way humans did, which made his loyalty to the Winchesters even more remarkable.

“Dean, we need to talk,” Cas broke the silence, and right away Dean was on edge.

“Sure man, what’s on your mind?”

_Please don’t let it be what I think it is._

Cas shifted uneasily in his chair, and continued to stare out at the lake, like maybe he’d see Nessie if he looked at it long and hard enough.

“I don’t know how much you remember... from before you said yes to Michael,” Cas’s voice was so low Dean wasn’t even sure he had heard him right.

“Yeah, everything around that whole mess is pretty hazy.” Dean was avoiding it, he knew he was, but he had never wanted to talk about anything less.

“In the bunker... when Lucifer had Sam and Jack... and I tried to stop you from saying yes.” Cas’s eyes finally left the lake and landed on Dean, and he could see the pain on Cas’s face plain as day. Dean’s stomach dropped into his shoes. In the silence that followed, all he could hear was the water lapping on the lake’s distant shores.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t really wanna--” Cas held up his hand and Dean’s protest ended there. His balance was off-kilter, like he could feel the earth turning under his feet. He looked out at the water, hoping it would steady him.

“Dean, I need to say this. Please let me say it. You don’t need to answer.”

Their eyes met, like they had so many times before, and though it took entirely more effort than it should have, Dean nodded. It felt like diving straight into the deep end.

“What I said then... I meant it. I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. I said it because I hoped... it would change your mind. And if it didn’t, I hoped it would give you the strength to fight him if you needed to,” Cas trailed off, slumped over in the chair, and put his head in his hands.

Dean felt sick. His head was swimming and he needed to be somewhere else, anywhere but sitting outside of this crappy Scottish inn with his best friend. Somewhere he didn’t have to remember how Cas told him he loved him before he got possessed by a douchebag archangel. Dean was great at repressing things he didn’t want to think about, but Cas telling him he loved him? For the second time in as many years? That hadn’t been easy to forget. He’d almost cried when he said it, voice breaking in desperation. He had grabbed Dean’s arm forcefully, near the place he’d once branded Dean’s skin.

_“Dean, please. Everything I’ve done since meeting you has been to keep you from making this choice. We can’t - I can’t - lose you. I-I love you.”_

Of course Dean remembered. He’d been half-crazed with worry about Sam and Jack, and nothing Cas said would’ve made a difference. Not even that. The angel’s blue eyes had been begging him to stay. But Dean said yes anyway. And in that moment, he’d felt his heart cracking open.

Dean rose unsteadily from his chair. Cas was watching him, warily. He walked to the end of the terrace where the worn bricks met the damp grass, swaying slightly on his feet. He was really too drunk to be having this conversation. But Cas had wanted to dredge it up, so here they were. How could an angel of the Lord love _him_ , Dean Winchester? What was there to love? And how could Cas even know what love was? No, he was confusing loyalty and devotion for love. Dean would help him see that. Let him down easy.

“Cas, I know what you were tryin’ to do. But, and maybe you’ve never had friends before, but me and Sam, we’re the first humans you’ve ever been close to. And maybe you don’t know what that feels like, so you think it’s somethin’ else,” Dean finished, slurring his last few words. He couldn’t look at Cas’s face, so instead he looked up at the stars. There were so many of them here, just like at home in Kansas.

Dean was startled out of his stargazing by the sound of Cas’s chair falling over. He could sense the anger vibrating off the angel as he came to stand next to Dean.

“Dean. Look at me,” Cas demanded.

Dean did, and he couldn’t believe how much Cas looked like his old self in that moment. The slouch was gone, he held his chin high, his jaw was set, and it felt like he was looking down at Dean even though he was definitely a hair shorter. Dean swallowed nervously and tried to hold Cas’s gaze.

“If you don’t feel the same, I can live with that. I’ve already lived with it for years. But do not presume to tell me I don’t know my own mind. My own... heart,” Cas’s badass angel façade wavered as he said that last word, but he visibly steeled himself again. His voice was distant as he continued.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sam read about some possible demon omens in town so I’m going to look into them. Or do you think I might be confused about those as well?” Cas didn’t wait for Dean to answer. He strode away into the darkness, his trench coat flapping behind him.

***

Dean wasn’t sure how he ended up back at Kenna’s pub. Drinking more seemed like the best option at the time. After all, he’d pissed off the one person who always put up with his bullshit. Why not see what other trouble he could get into? Kenna was there, but the pub was full so Dean sat on his own in a corner, nursing a single shot of whiskey. His appetite for alcohol had disappeared after a while, replaced by a gnawing pain in his gut since Cas left him standing by himself. The pub emptied out at 11pm, people laughing and hugging on their way out into the night. And then Kenna was there, sitting across the table from him, languidly smoking a cigarette.

“Hey, are you allowed to smoke in here?” Dean asked.

“It’s my pub, I do what I want,” she responded, taking a sip from her own glass, which contained a sickeningly green liquid.

She was just as gorgeous as she had been that morning. She caught him looking and smiled. She didn’t seem to mind Dean’s open appraisal. In fact, before Dean could react, she was up and out of her chair and straddling his lap. His face was level with her full breasts, which were straining the Led Zeppelin logo on her t-shirt. He looked up into her eyes. This close, he could see the flecks of yellow dotted in the forest green of her irises.

She put her cigarette out in her glass, and pulled the hem of her t-shirt over her head. She smelled like cigarettes, whatever mystery alcohol she had been drinking, and something else... something wrong. But right then Dean didn’t care. He ran his fingers through her copper hair, and pulled her head towards him. The kiss was messy. Teeth, lips, tongue, hands roaming, grabbing.

She dragged him upstairs to her apartment above the pub. He’d done this a million times before. No big deal - just another hookup. He knew what to do next, what was expected of him. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Everything about her felt off. Then she was reaching for his belt, and Dean closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck.

And then he froze.

She groaned in frustration, but Dean couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t look at her. She wasn’t what he wanted. Not really. Sure flirting with her was fun but now that he was in her bed, Dean couldn’t go through with it. She was a distraction. Her eyes were the wrong color, she was the wrong shape altogether.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

Her voice was all wrong too, and he _hated_ the way she said his name. What he wanted, he already had. Or at least until he fucked it up. He needed dark blue eyes full of adoration, dedication, trust. Messy black hair that stuck out every which way. Golden and taut skin asking to be kissed, begging to be worshipped. He needed that familiar presence beside him, always. He needed to tell him - to make him understand.

So Dean ran.


	6. Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You

_It was really, really good._   
_You made me happy every single day._   
_But now... I've got to go away! Oh, oh, oh._   
_Baby, baby, baby_   
_That's when it's callin' me_   
_I said that's when it's callin' me back home_

Dean woke up with a pounding headache. The room was chilly and empty. It was a relief Sam wasn’t there to roll his eyes at Dean’s hangover like he always did. Thank goodness for small mercies. But then the door to the room burst open and there was Sam, towering over the bed, breathing heavily, his hair a total mess. Dean winced at the noise and squinted up at his brother.

“Dean! Get up! Cas and Jack are gone! And where the hell have you been anyway?”

“Ugh... Sammy, please. Gimme a minute. Mistakes were made,” Dean croaked, but alarm bells were starting to go off in his head. Cas was gone? And Jack?

“Well, while you were out, Cas and Jack disappeared and I have no idea where they are and they’re not answering their phones and I…” Sam seemed to run out of steam then and sat down heavily across from Dean on the other bed. He took a deep, shaky breath.

“Dean, I’m worried. Cas texted me in the middle of the night saying he found some demon omens - mutilated cattle on a farm nearby - and the guy from the store told him the weather’s been weird lately. All started around the time Isla was murdered. I haven’t heard from him since,” Sam sighed and got up, grabbing an empty glass, and headed to the bathroom to rinse it out and bring it back full of water.

Dean pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned back against the headboard. His head felt like it was about to crack open. He took the water gratefully and downed it. The knot in his gut from the night before was still there and getting worse. He tried to focus on his brother, and finally noticed how utterly wrecked Sam looked as he paced back and forth, his broad shoulders hunched, his hands nervously pushing his hair back from his face. He was already so worried Dean hated to make it worse, but there was no point in hiding anything from his little brother.

“Sam, last night, Cas told me some stuff, and I uh, I kinda messed it up.”

“Come on, Dean, I’m not an idiot. Cas and I... we got close when you were gone.” He let that confession hang between them, waiting. But Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Sam halfway.

“He told me, Dean. When you were gone, when Michael... Cas told me what he said. You know that basically broke him, right? When you said yes. He barely kept it together while you were...” Sam seemed relieved to be getting this out. “Listen, man, when we find him, you two need to deal with this. Whatever it is, he’s your _best friend_. You can’t keep running away from him. He deserves better than that. Hell, you deserve better than that!” Sam trailed off and looked expectantly at his older brother.

So Sam knew. And just like that, Dean felt lighter. Of course Sam and Cas had gotten closer without Dean around. Plus, Sam was smart and observant, and had spent a lot of time around Dean and Cas for the past ten or so years. Thinking back, there had been a few times when Sam had tried to tell Dean in his own subtle way that he was okay with whoever Dean was, and whoever he wanted to be with. But he’d never come out and say it for fear of scaring Dean off. Dean shook his head in wonder at how well his little brother knew him. And now he had gone and fucked it up with Cas. And he was gone.

“Sam, I messed up.”

“Dean, I’m pretty sure Cas would forgive you almost anything.” Sam put his hand lightly on Dean’s back. The comfort of his brother’s touch was just what he needed. The ache in Dean’s gut faded a little bit.

“Dean - you stink. Go take a shower and let’s find our family.”

***

A half hour later Sam and Dean squeezed into the rental car, throwing their small pile of gear into the trunk. Dean snatched some clothes out of his duffel bag, but at the last minute, grabbed the green sweater and put it on over his clean t-shirt. Sam watched him silently, his leg jiggling nervously.

The morning was crisp, and with the rising sun, the fog sitting on the lake’s surface was disappearing. Sam pushed the little car to its limit, throwing it around the curves on the road to Boleskine House. They didn’t know where to start looking for Cas and Jack but the house made the most sense as a starting point. They didn’t speak. They were still completely in the dark about what was going on in Foyers. And now Cas and Jack were gone, the morning after Dean had decided to go full asshat and piss off his angel best friend. And Jack... Dean wasn’t sure when it had happened, and he hadn’t even wanted it to really, but he had gotten pretty attached to the kid. Jack’s endless enthusiasm and innocence had affected them all. He’d taken to calling Sam, Dean, and Cas his “three dads” and had practically vibrated with excitement at the prospect of leaving the bunker and going on vacation. Dean’s chest hurt when he thought about Jack out there all alone somewhere, without his powers. Maybe Cas was with him.

Sam’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The dry toast Dean had shoved in his mouth on the way out the door was stuck in his throat. Of course the Winchesters couldn’t go on a vacation without it going sideways. After a quick stop at the local store to buy as much salt as they could, just in case they were dealing with demons, they arrived at the turn into the winding driveway that led up to the house. Sam finally broke the silence.

“Jack and I... we were up last night doing research. He was so eager - he just wanted to help. I made him go to bed when he couldn’t stop yawning. I thought he was asleep in his room…” Sam trailed off as the car rounded the corner and the burnt out house came into view. It was eerily beautiful in the morning light, and if it hadn’t been for the tell-tale smoke marks and collapsed roof, the house could have been just another picturesque tourist attraction in the Scottish countryside.

Sam guided the car gently off the road and into the forest. No point in advertising their arrival. They got out, and, just like they always did when they were driving the Impala, met at the car’s back bumper to come up with a plan. Dean surveyed the contents of the trunk. They didn’t have much. Sam’s demon-killing knife, Dean’s Colt, and wherever Cas was, hopefully an angel blade. And a buttload of salt.

“Damn, I wish I knew what we’re getting ourselves into,” Dean said, knowing full well they didn’t often have the luxury of being totally prepared.

Sam nodded grimly.

“Well, let’s assume it’s demons for now. We don’t know how many or if they’ve even got Cas and Jack, but we’ve gone up against worse odds.” Dean knew this was Sam’s attempt at optimism, bless him.

Dean grabbed his gun from the rental car’s tiny trunk, checked the chamber for the devil’s trap bullets he knew were there, and stuffed the gun under his waistband, pulling the green sweater over it. Sam put the demon-killing knife in his jacket pocket. They weren’t going to lose anybody today. Not Jack. Not Cas. Dean had lost him enough times to know the next time might kill them both. Sam grabbed a bag of salt and quietly shut the trunk. In the few short minutes they had spent getting ready, the weak sunlight had all but disappeared. Dean scanned the sky beyond the trees. Dark, roiling clouds were racing towards the clearing where the house sat. It had come on so suddenly that it had to be supernatural. More demon signs.

“That’s not ominous at all,” Dean observed, hoping the sarcasm was enough to hide his nerves. He was self-aware enough at his ripe old age to know that blaming himself for everything wasn’t going to help the situation. But old habits die hard and he was cursing himself for driving Cas away, for not paying enough attention to Jack, for his drunken hook-up with Kenna.

Dean pushed the self-loathing down. He needed a clear head for this. They stayed inside the tree line, crouching lower as the house came into view. As they got closer, they heard a low rhythmic humming sound. Sam and Dean exchanged a look. They eventually stopped when they were directly behind the house, facing what used to be the main door, a few hundred yards away up the slope.

Dean’s stomach plummeted when he finally made out what was happening inside the house. The front door was hanging listlessly off its hinges. In what had once been the front room, there was Cas, seemingly tied to one of the house’s support beams. He was naked from the waist up, head lolling on his chest, his black hair sticking out in every direction. Next to him, Dean could barely make out a blurry figure. As the clouds moved overhead, a shaft of light landed on the figure, igniting a head of fiery red hair.


	7. Ramble On

_Mine's a tale that can't be told,_   
_My freedom I hold, dear._   
_How years ago in days of old,_   
_When magic filled the air._   
_Just in the darkest depths of Mordor_   
_I met a girl so fair._   
_But Gollum and the evil one_   
_Crept up and slipped away with her, her, her, her, her, yeah._

An orange light pierced through the holes in the house’s walls and up into the black sky though the nonexistent roof. What the hell was going on in there? And what did Kenna have to do with any of it? Dean craned to get a clearer look without leaving the cover of the trees. Sam did the same, and inhaled sharply when he spotted Cas.

“Sam - can you see? Is he alive?” Dean whispered urgently. His hunting instincts kicked in and he shifted his weight forward, tensed and ready to charge into the house, gun blazing.

“I think so. But what the hell is she doing here?” Sam turned to Dean and saw he was ready to pounce. Sam rested his hand firmly on Dean’s arm. “Hang on. We need a plan before we go rushing in there.”

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Cas. Kenna had moved out of view somewhere else in the house. Seeing Cas half-naked and vulnerable sent an icy cold fear running through Dean. Without his usual trench coat, dark suit, and blue tie, Cas looked so... human. Dean raked his eyes up and down Cas’s torso, which luckily seemed free of any wounds. It was jarring to see this much of the angel’s flesh on display. Normally he hid his body, and it really was his body now, under layers of shapeless, ill-fitting fabric. It didn’t feel right to be seeing him like this when he was in danger.

Dean tore his eyes away from Cas. All they had was the element of surprise, but he hated going into a fight totally blind. There was still so much they didn’t know. How many demons were there? What did they want with Cas? Where the hell was Jack? What did Kenna have to do with any of it? She was clearly bad news. How had some regular girl managed to overpower an angel?

_Damn Winchester, you really know how to pick ‘em._

“Okay we can’t go in together. If we both get caught, we’re fucked,” Dean let the strategizing take over, welcoming the distraction from his rising panic. “Kenna knows me, from uh, last night. Maybe I can go in there, create a diversion. If they don’t know you’re here, maybe we can get one over on them before they realize what’s happening. And I can see if Jack is in there too.”

Sam nodded, unsheathing the demon-killing knife. The ancient metal glinted in the fading light, and a fat raindrop landed on the blade. And then another, and suddenly Dean and Sam were in the middle of a massive downpour, the rain ricocheting off tree branches all around them. The rain pelted into the ground, filling the air with the smell of grass and... sulfur. Sam pushed his hair back from his face with his free hand.

“I’ll sneak up to one of the windows and wait for your signal. While you’re distracting them, I’ll put some salt around the house, maybe draw a few devil’s traps if I have time, but this rain and wind isn’t gonna help,” Sam tightened his grip on the knife, then reached up to put his other hand firmly on Dean’s shoulder. He sought out Dean’s eyes, and like he had done a million times before, steadied his brother. “We’ll get them both, Dean. We have to.”

Sam left the shelter of the trees and headed around the side of the house in a low crouch. Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He usually didn’t react like this. Danger was part of their everyday lives. People they cared about were in harm’s way pretty much constantly. But this time... they were supposed to be on vacation. As a family. Jack was their responsibility. Sam just wanted to see the Loch Ness monster. And Cas, well, he was there because he always was. Dean never really let himself think about why. Because if he did, he might have to admit how much he wanted Cas there. All the time. How much he wanted Cas to stay by his side and never leave.

_If we make it outta this alive..._

Dean swallowed down the shaky hope that was bubbling up inside of him. He knew his gun was there but he reach back to touch the ivory handle anyway. Wiping rain out of his eyes, Dean walked up to the glowing orange gap that used to be the front door of Boleskine House with all the swagger he could muster. Jimmy Page would be proud.

_Showtime._


	8. The Lemon Song

_I should have quit you, baby_  
_Oh, such a long time ago_  
_I wouldn't be here with all my troubles_  
_Down on this killing floor_  
_Squeeze me baby, 'till the juice runs down my leg_  
_Squeeze me baby, 'till the juice runs down my leg_

Closer to the house, the smell of sulfur got stronger, until Dean had to put his hand over his nose and mouth. But he kept walking, trying to keep his eyes on Cas, who was still tied up just beyond the threshold and not moving. Just when Dean was starting to wonder if they were going to let him walk right through the front door, two hulking shapes appeared on either side of him. He stopped and turned to face the one on his left.

“Well, hello there fellas. I was just out for a walk this morning when I heard your little party up here and wanted to come see if I could join in,” Dean smirked.

The guy grinned in response. He looked like someone’s dad, even though he was on the beefier side. But with a blink, his eyes changed to an inky black. Dean swung around to face the other one, a younger guy with a hipster beard, whose eyes were also empty black pits.

_Two demon sonsabitches. Me and Sammy can take care of this._

Dean was starting to reach for his gun when a voice came from inside the house, barely louder than the sound of the pelting rain.

“Hello, Dean.”

It was weird how someone’s voice could sound so different, from one day to another. Just yesterday, Dean thought Kenna’s low Scottish lilt was sexy as hell. But now, it made his skin crawl. He walked through the doorway, only to find that Kenna had positioned herself between him and Cas, and Dean couldn’t see the angel behind her.

She looked different, carried herself more stiffly. She wasn’t wearing the jeans and t-shirt anymore. She had changed into some cult-looking black robe, which was covered with elaborate embroidery. Dean tried to get a better look but the storm had blocked out almost all sunlight. He thought he could make out sigils sewn into the heavy fabric. What was this girl into?

“I don’t know what kind of freaky shit is going on here, but I’d like to have my family back now.” Dean stared straight into Kenna’s eyes, hoping he looked menacing enough. A slow smile spread across her face, and then, she blinked. The forest green irises were gone, replaced by nothing but pitch black holes.

Shit.

How did he miss the signs? She beckoned to him.

“Welcome, Dean Winchester. Please come in, you are an honored guest.” Her whole voice had taken on a lower timbre, and the accent was gone too. It sounded more refined, more English. Maybe a little old-fashioned?

“Uh, no thanks. I’ll just take Cas here, and Jack, who I’m guessing you’ve got too. I’m not really into the whole cult ritual thing.” He started to move past her to get to Cas when he felt an invisible force pin his feet to the floor of the front entry hall. He couldn’t move. He strained to see over Kenna’s shoulder. Cas’s eyes were still closed, but Dean was relieved to see the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Kenna looked appraisingly at Dean, her green eyes shining again, but without any of the twinkling charm Dean had been attracted to before. Instead it felt like she was looking at him like a bug under a magnifying glass. “I’m pleased you could join us, Dean. I’ve been wanting to meet you.” So this was the demon bastard possessing Kenna. How long had he been in her? Was he in there when... Dean’s stomach dropped.

As if reading his thoughts, the demon laughed softly with Kenna’s voice and shook her head, crimson hair wafting gently in the wind, which didn’t seem to be as strong inside the confines of the house. “I know what you must be thinking, Dean. But I do not want to worry you. This vessel... Kenna is willing. Even though demons do not need a vessel’s consent, she gave herself up to me. We are a partnership. She wanted you, and I wanted you.”

At that, Kenna’s beautiful face twisted into a sneer. The room spun around Dean. He tried to keep his eyes on Cas, to anchor himself somehow. The rain was a bit lighter inside the house, despite the massive holes in the roof, but water still dripped over every rotting surface. The smell of sulfur was almost overpowering. He needed to get his bearings - saving Cas and Jack depended on it. So Dean steeled himself and glared at the demon.

“You’re a sick bastard, using me and her like your personal playthings!”

The demon just laughed. “You don’t believe me, I understand. I’ll let her tell you herself.” And with that, her eyes closed, she swayed a bit on her feet, and then opened her eyes again. Her whole demeanor had changed.

“Oh, hiya Dean. Welcome to our little shindig! And donna worry your pretty little head - I thoroughly enjoyed last night. Too bad it didn’t last - there was so much more we wanted to show ya.” Kenna winked. “Oh you were askin’ about my sister before - sadly we needed her to complete the ritual to summon my master. She didna suffer too much. And neither will you and your friends, as long as you submit to us.”

With that, Kenna was gone again, the demon back in control of her body. He smiled at Dean again, and ran a hand through Kenna’s hair. Dean’s feet were still glued to the ground. He needed to buy some time. His skin was crawling. He never would have let Kenna anywhere near him if he’d known she was possessed.

“Come now Dean, have you not yet guessed who I am? My followers have told me I gained even greater fame after my death. I’ll be hurt if you’ve never heard of me.” The demon batted Kenna’s long eyelashes at Dean, setting his teeth on edge.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is you’re demon trash. The kind me and my family hunt,” Dean said steadily, reaching behind his back for his gun. But it was too late. He felt the invisible force again, this time yanking the gun from his waist and flinging it across the room. It landed with a faraway thud in a pile of decaying debris.

The demon stepped closer to Dean. “I am not to be trifled with, Dean. I was powerful when I was alive. Now, after all those years in Hell, no one will be able to stop me.” With that, the demon reached into the robe’s thick folds and brought out a small object Dean recognized right away. The hellhound figurine. With growing horror, Dean tore his eyes from the small black dog and stared at the demon, who was smirking at him.

“Yes, Dean. This belonged to me. When I was a man. When I was... the wickedest man in the world.”

“You’re Aleister Crowley,” Dean gasped, stating the obvious, hoping to stall until Sam could figure something out. “Funny, we knew a Crowley once. He was a demon too, and a real sonofabitch, but you sure as hell don’t measure up.” Crowley had moved closer, and Dean could actually see Cas behind him now. The angel’s eyelids flickered open for a split second, and Dean felt a surge of relief. Maybe Cas was okay, maybe he was just waiting for the right moment. Maybe waiting for Sam. Crowley had looked a little hurt by Dean’s dig, but he carried on. It seemed like he was used to having an audience.

“It was Kenna who summoned me from Hell. I was pleased to discover my religion still has followers, even in this modern age. She is a true believer in Thelema, and decided to help me complete the ritual I started here. She studied long and hard, and chose to give her body to me as a temporary vessel upon my return to Scotland. Imagine my disappointment when I found my former home in this sorry state,” he said, gesturing grandly at the sopping mess around them, his robes flapping in the breeze. “But my guardian angel was watching over me, because it was the fire that destroyed the warding I left, freeing these demons so they could help Kenna. They were trapped here since I began the ritual all those years ago, and apparently they caused quite a bit of trouble for those who lived here.” Crowley smiled benevolently at the two demons, who now flanked him on either side.

This guy really liked to talk. Made sense he started his own religion. It would be easy enough to keep him going. But where the hell was Jack?

“What’s with the hellhound?”

“Ah, you are familiar with the beast. This one in particular I left behind, spelled with a bit of my essence, in case anything happened to me and I needed to be called back to this place.”

“Your _essence_?” Dean sneered the last word. “Man, I don’t even wanna know what that means.”

Crowley smiled, or at least Dean guessed that’s what he did, because it came out more like a grimace. The demon’s presence inside Kenna somehow warped her features, making Dean wonder how he ever found her attractive.

“Are you certain? You might enjoy a bit of sex magick, Dean. I for one do not discriminate between male and female partners. In fact, Kenna and I were disappointed you ran away before completion. Why did you do that, Dean?” Crowley was watching Dean carefully, stroking the hellhound figurine as he waited. He seemed to glide over to stand next to Cas’s prone body. Crowley looked expectantly at Dean, while tracing a finger languidly down Cas’s bare sternum.

Rage boiled in Dean’s stomach. He swallowed it down. No point in losing it now. He didn’t want this asshole to know just how much of a weak point Cas was for him.

“No reason in particular. Maybe she just isn’t my type. No hard feelings, you understand,” Dean deflected smoothly. “What I’m interested in is getting my family back. What do you need them for? If you touch a hair on Jack’s head, so help me…”

“Now Dean, I would never harm such a special creature as young Jack. You see, I sensed his presence – his otherness - as soon as you came to Foyer’s. I knew of the existence of angels, but to encounter a live nephilim? What a stroke of luck. I found him entirely by accident when performing a locator spell on the hellhound figurine, which you stole from me. Imagine my surprise when my followers found little Jack with the hound! He tried to fight back, the poor dear, but he was not strong enough.”

“He hasn’t got his powers anymore - he’s no good to you. Just let him and the angel go and we’ll leave you alone to do-- whatever this is!” Dean tried to keep the desperation from showing in his voice.

_Sam, where the hell are you?_

Crowley continued as though Dean hadn’t spoken. He was still lightly running his fingers over Cas’s arms and torso. Dean thought he saw the angel flinch under the demon’s touch.

“And then, this exquisite specimen of an angel came crashing in here looking for... his son? His charge? No matter – I am not the least bit interested in your family dynamics. When Castiel delivered himself to me, that is when I knew the forces of the universe had aligned. You see, the power this angel holds inside him is enough for me to complete my work. As for Jack, he has a very special role to play in all this.”

While Crowley was busy exposing his entire plan (he really did like to talk), Dean’s mind was racing, trying to figure out how Cas had allowed himself to be captured, stripped half naked, and tied up by this demon sex cult leader hopped up on his own ego. And that’s when it hit him. Cas wasn’t stupid. He knew he couldn’t take on two demons and their super-douche demon boss. Not in his current weakened state. So he had let himself get caught because he knew Sam and Dean would come after him and Jack. And now he was just waiting for the right moment. Dean struggled to keep the smirk off his face as he realized they had the advantage.

Dean still couldn’t move his feet. But he could yell.

“Poughkeepsie!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to put a little note here because when I was writing this, I worried a lot about whether people would find it confusing that there is another character called Crowley in the story, who is definitely NOT our Crowley. I don't know if Crowley (King of Hell) was named after the famous real-life Aleister Crowley, but it's kind of a cool connection. In any case, this Crowley is most definitely NOT that Crowley ;)


	9. Fool In The Rain

_Now my body is starting to quiver_   
_And the palms of my hands getting wet_   
_I've got no reason to doubt you baby_   
_It's all a terrible mess_   
_I'll run in the rain till I'm breathless_   
_When I'm breathless I'll run till I drop, hey_   
_The thoughts of a fool's kind of careless_   
_I'm just a fool waiting on the wrong block, oh yeah_   
_Light of the love that I found_

Crowley’s eyes widened almost comically. He opened his mouth and then Sam emerged from the shadows behind Cas, his gargantuan form seemingly filling the whole space. He’d snuck in through the other side of the ruined house, taking advantage of Dean’s distraction. Then, as if on cue, Cas opened his eyes and started struggling against the spelled ropes binding his wrists. Sam looked around at the all too familiar scene and started loosening Cas’s ropes. Dean nodded at Sam. Now he knew they’d get out of this.

For his part, Crowley looked indignant. “Who is this?” He was so surprised that the demon mojo keeping Dean in place weakened and he grabbed the chance to take out the two demon goons.

“Sam – knife!” Sam barely looked up from Cas’s wrists as he reached into his jacket to grab the demon-killing knife. He tossed it gently but accurately to Dean, who caught the handle and turned to face down the larger demon on Cas’s left.

“This is my brother, Sam. He’s here to kick your ass.” As the demon lunged towards him, Dean smoothly stepped aside, twisting and turning his body as he drove the knife deep into the demon’s ribs. There was a flash of flight and a crackle of sound, and the demon fell to floor, his blood mixing with the rain as it spread across the floor.

Before Crowley could stop what was happening, Sam yanked the ropes off Cas’s wrists. The angel stood up straight, ready to enter the fight, but then the other demon threw his entire weight against Cas’s body, and they crashed to the floor, a mess of flailing limbs.

“Cas!” Dean shouted as he moved towards the struggling pair thrashing around on the entryway floor.

“Dean – where’s Jack?” But as soon as the question left Sam’s mouth, the demon mojo was back, this time directed at both him and Sam. They were rooted to the spot, unable to reach Cas, who had been pinned on the floor by the hipster demon. The demon’s hands were around Cas’s throat, squeezing the breath out of him, as his legs pumped uselessly. Eventually he stopped moving altogether. The hipster demon smirked and started to get up off the floor.

Dean’s heart constricted. “Cas – no!”

Dean looked helplessly at Sam, whose face was contorted in a mixture of despair and horror as his eyes moved back and forth between Dean and Cas’s body on the ground. But then, in Dean’s peripheral vision, there was movement. Dean whipped his head around to see Cas, very much alive, grab the hipster demon’s arm in an iron grip. The angel’s other hand came up to palm the demon’s forehead. “Close your eyes!”

Sam and Dean did so obediently. They knew what came next. Even with their eyes closed, the brilliant white light of Cas’s smiting seeped in around the edges of their vision. It was painful but not enough to drown out Dean’s sense of relief at Cas not being dead. They still couldn’t move, though. Dean’s gun was nowhere to be seen but at least he had the demon-killing knife. Cas stood up and instinctively moved to stand in front of Sam and Dean, putting himself between them and Crowley, who was smiling eerily with Kenna’s full lips and white teeth. The demon raised his hand, black robes flapping in the now-strengthening wind, and with a flick of his wrist, threw Sam, Dean, and Cas to the other end of the entry hall.

Their backs slammed into a sodden wall and they collapsed almost comically onto the ground in a heap. Dean struggled to take in a breath and realized the impact had completely knocked the wind out of him. It wasn’t helping that Cas had landed on top of Dean, and the angel’s considerable weight was also crushing his lungs. Cas quickly tried to push himself up and away from Dean. But Dean couldn’t resist reaching out to lightly grasp Cas’s bare shoulder. The angel looked up at him with an unreadable expression. He moved away from Dean’s touch and tried to stand up but winced with pain.

Sam whispered urgently to him. “Stay down, man. You’re gonna get yourself killed.” Cas frowned in response but stopped trying to get up.

Crowley walked towards them, still smiling beatifically. “That was very impressive indeed. And where did you get that clever little knife? You are clearly no ordinary family.”

“We’re not,” Sam growled. “We’re the Winchesters.”

“How lovely for you. I have of course never heard of these Winchesters but I do know about hunters. I suppose that is what you are? Or Men of Letters perhaps? They did not care much for my practices and tried to stop me several times during my lifetime. They never succeeded, of course. And where are they now?” Crowley gestured expansively around him.

“Right here, douchebag. My brother and I are legacies. And we’re gonna stop you from doing… whatever the hell it is you’re doing,” Dean realized as he said this that they didn’t actually know the details of Crowley’s plan.

“Ah it’s kismet then, that you should be here to witness my destiny as it unfolds. You see, I was one of the rare humans in my time who knew how to use real magick, and the Men of Letters did not like that. They wanted to control the supernatural. They thought the rest of us mortals were not to be trusted with it. But I was destined for greatness, to bring truth and light to the world.”

“You are far from the only human to have such delusions of grandeur,” Cas said drily.

“Perhaps, dear angel, but I am the only one to truly live up to them. The central teaching of my religion is ‘do what thou wilt’. Does that not appeal to you? It seems you have spent your lives following orders, doing what is best for others rather than for yourselves. Do you not sometimes wish you could just take the thing that would make you happy?” Crowley’s gaze slid from Cas to Dean.

They stayed quiet. Cas shifted uncomfortably between Sam and Dean on the floor. He was shivering, and Dean could make out the tiny goose bumps appearing on his bare back. Of course – smiting that demon must have taken it out of him.

“Never mind. I do not need you to be convinced of my righteousness. Once I have met my guardian angel, all will be revealed. I was never able to finish the ritual while I was alive, but thanks to Kenna I have a second chance. And this time, in this form, I am much more powerful.”

“Well that doesn’t sound ominous at all,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Crowley (and Dean really couldn’t get used to calling him that) turned and walked away from them, heading for the other wing of the house. He disappeared into the house’s shadows. Finally, a chance. Sam, Dean, and Cas jumped to their feet.

“He really drank his own Kool-Aid. I can’t believe people actually joined his weird cult,” Sam said as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Dean, did you see where your gun landed?”

“He threw it over there somewhere.” Dean started to root through the chaotic mess of wet debris.

“Humans like to feel they belong somewhere, Sam. It is part of the appeal of religion, I suppose.” Cas started looking around. “I’m starting to get quite cold. Do you see my shirt and trench coat anywhere?”

“Sorry, buddy. But where the hell is Jack? We need to get him out of here.”

“Dean!” A familiar voice cried out from behind them. Dean’s heart sank.

They stopped what they were doing and turned to see Jack being led into the front hallway by Crowley. Jack looked terrified, but he was trying to hide it.

“Dean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get caught – I was just in my room and they found me.”

“Jack – don’t worry. We’re gonna get you out of this,” Dean tried to sound reassuring but the truth was he had no fucking clue how.

“Now, we are all here. It is time to begin the ritual.” Crowley led Jack to the pillar where Cas had been tied up just moments before. He picked the discarded ropes up from the ground and started tying Jack’s wrists behind his back around the pillar. Dean made a move towards him, and was stopped in his tracks again by a slight movement of Crowley’s hand.

The demon began to chant. Dean looked desperately at Sam and Cas, neither of whom seemed to be able to move. The wind howled through the holes in the house’s walls, and the rain started coming down in sheets.

“Dammit – what do you need the kid for?” Dean shouted to make himself heard above the sounds of the storm.

Crowley smiled, and suddenly Kenna’s eyes were black again.

“Why Dean, do you not yet understand? When my guardian angel arrives, he will need a vessel.”


	10. When The Levee Breaks

_If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break_  
_If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break_  
_When the levee breaks I'll have no place to stay_  
_Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan_  
_Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan_  
_It's got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home_  
_Oh, well, oh, well, oh, well_

Dean was pretty much done with angels and vessels. He’d barely gotten out of the whole Michael thing without permanent damage, and that was only because Michael had agreed to heal him. And that wasn’t even taking into account how awful the experience of being possessed was. That was not going to happen to Jack. Cas was on the same page and started struggling to get up, but Crowley laughed at him.

“Castiel, I appreciate how valiantly you are trying to save this boy. But I need you too, so I have no intention of letting you go.” With that, Crowley returned to his chanting.

“Cas – what language is he speaking? What is he saying?” Sam was still craning his neck, looking for Dean’s gun. Suddenly, he jerked his head toward something buried underneath a pile of waterlogged books. “Dean – look!” Sam whispered urgently. Dean saw the glint of metal.

_There she is._

Cas stopped trying to pull his wrists free and squinted furiously at Crowley, trying to make out what he was saying. “I believe he is speaking Enochian, Sam, but a somewhat bastardized version. Which means he may actually be summoning an angel.”

At that, a flash of lightning struck the house, lighting it up and throwing garish shadows everywhere. Dean glanced at Jack, who was white as a sheet.

“Yo Aleister, or Crowley, or whatever your name is. Angels need consent to occupy a vessel and Jack here ain’t gonna give it to you.”

Crowley stopped chanting and glared impatiently at Dean. “Yes, Dean, he will.” With that, the demon drew a curved silver blade from his robes. In one swift movement, Crowley stepped in front of Cas, bent down, and slit the angel’s throat. Blue-white grace came pouring out, and Crowley caught it in a small metal bowl, which he had plucked from somewhere inside his robes. There was blood in the bowl already, and it mixed with Cas’s grace.

Cas gasped. His body sank limply into the floor, his head drooping onto Dean’s shoulder. The wound on his neck was only superficial, but the demon had taken all of his grace. But Dean didn’t even have time to absorb what had just happened before Crowley started speaking again.

“My demon blood, mixed with an angel’s grace. Now I have everything I need.” Crowley glided over to Jack, forced his mouth open, and tipped the contents down his throat. Jack spluttered and coughed, but swallowed some of the mixture.

Dean watched in horror as Jack’s eyes briefly glowed blue-white and then flickered back to their usual hazel. Crowley resumed his chanting, this time keeping one hand hovering over Jack’s heart.

Dean took advantage of the distraction to cup Cas’s chin in his hand and lift his head up.

“Cas, buddy, you okay?”

Cas answered through gritted teeth. “Yes, Dean. I’m okay. Human, but okay.”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam over the top of Cas’s head. It wasn’t like this was uncharted territory. But fuck if he didn’t feel a pang of regret that yet again, Cas was human not by choice, but because of some asshole with a god complex.

He didn’t have time to finish the thought. A high-pitched whine interrupted Crowley’s chanting, and soon it was loud enough that Sam, Dean, and Cas all covered their ears in pain. Dean knew that sound. He had first heard it ten years ago in an abandoned gas station in Illinois. An angel was circling, looking for a vessel.

“Jack – don’t let it in! Don’t say yes!”

Jack nodded, a determined look on his baby face. Dean felt a jolt of pride.

“Oh Dean, he will let my angel in, you’ll see.” With that, Crowley grabbed Cas and hauled him to his feet. The silver blade was at his neck again.

“Jack, my dear, I do not know what your relationship to this angel is, but I know he is very devoted to you. If you do not consent to my guardian angel using you as a vessel, I will slit Castiel’s throat. And this time, the cut will go much, much deeper.”

The storm was starting to feel less like a particularly severe summer thunderstorm and more like some kind of biblical judgment day situation. Dean could barely make out what Crowley was saying over the noise of the wind buffeting through the destroyed house, and the claps of thunder were becoming more frequent. The high-pitched angel sound had receded a bit, as if the angel was waiting for them to finish arguing.

“Dean, Sam, Castiel. I can do this and I will do it, for you. You! Stop hurting my family!” Jack lifted his eyes up to the roiling black sky. “Come on in, you sonofabitch!”

And then, nothing. Complete stillness descended on the house. Dean looked anxiously back and forth between Jack and Cas, who still had Crowley’s knife to his neck. Sam was doing the same, waiting, calculating, looking for a way out, trying to find an opening, like he always did.

Jack went still, slumped against the pillar. Crowley released Cas and walked slowly towards the nephilim. Cas swayed, unsteady on his feet, and Dean instinctively reached out and linked his arm through his friend’s, essentially propping him up. Cas nodded gratefully at him, patting Dean’s hand as his eyes struggled to stay open. Crowley was so focused on Jack that he seemed to have forgotten to keep holding Sam, Dean, and Cas in place. Sam crept forward gingerly and retrieved Dean’s gun. He handed it to Dean, who in turn gave the demon-killing knife back to Sam.

“Cas – don’t suppose you’ve got your angel blade hiding somewhere in your pants?” Dean whispered anxiously.

A rueful smile met Dean’s raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I think they took it when they took my clothes.”

“Who are you and why have you summoned me here?” A booming voice that sounded nothing like Jack’s filled the room.

“My lord, it is I, Aleister Crowley. I have summoned you here because you are my guardian angel and I wish to learn from you and reach enlightenment.”

Like he hadn’t heard, the angel, using Jack’s body, easily broke free of the ropes. He rolled Jack’s shoulders, and scrutinized the room with Jack’s eyes. But there was no trace of Jack in his face. No sign of the earnest, good, smart kid who always wanted to do the right thing. This was something else. Pure celestial grace and power, the same essence that used to make Cas so damn scary before Dean got to know him.

The angel’s eyes landed on Crowley. “You are a demon. How dare you show your face to me? How dare you summon an angel of the lord to this-” the angel gestured around at the ruined house- “this filthy place. And this vessel - it is not entirely human. I sense another angel’s grace within it. You chose a nephilim to hold me? This is entirely unsuitable. Explain yourself.”

Crowley looked unsure for the first time. “I am Aleister Crowley and I have been chosen - I spent my whole life searching for a way to reach you. I founded my own religion, I engaged in unspeakable acts, I have made sacrifices, all to find you. I am ready to receive your wisdom,” Crowley bowed deeply before the angel.

The angel, whoever it was, seemed bored with Crowley. He turned his attention to Cas, who was still slumped against Dean’s side, clinging to his arm for support. Dean instinctively angled his body so that he was slightly in front of Cas, putting himself between his friend and the unknown angel, who was examining Cas closely.

“You are also an angel. But a peculiar one - you have lost your grace. I can feel some of it here, in this vessel. Castiel - is that you? It is I, Marut.”

Cas lifted his head and searched the angel’s face. “I’m afraid I can’t see your face anymore, old friend. But yes, I am Castiel. This demon stole my grace for the spell he used to summon you. I’m sorry he brought you here, but I am glad to see you.”

Marut reached out, and Dean watched curiously as he gently laid a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “We have been through much together, and while I wish we were meeting again under different circumstances, I am happy to see you.” The angel and the former angel looked into each other’s eyes for a beat, and Dean felt a twinge of jealousy. Marut turned slowly to face Crowley, who was still kneeling on the floor.

“Wait - Marut. The kid you’re possessing - please don’t hurt him. He’s very important to me. To us.” Sam was practically pleading. Marut seemed to notice Sam for the first time. There was recognition in his eyes. The angel nodded.

“As you wish, Sam Winchester. You, and your brother, are heroes to some of us in Heaven. Demon! Rise.”

Crowley practically jumped off the floor, his robes billowing out around him. He was looking at Marut with so much awe and reverence that Dean almost felt sorry for him. Then he remembered Isla, murdered just so this egomaniac could meet a real live angel. He wasn’t worth anyone’s pity. Marut’s voice boomed through the rubble.

“You have hurt one of my oldest friends. You have killed innocents. You have set yourself up as some sort of false idol to be worshipped. You think you are important? Chosen? I have never even heard of you. And now, I shall send you back to Hell, where you will suffer for eternity.”

Crowley inhaled sharply and raised his silver knife again. But his arm froze in mid air. Marut turned to Castiel.

“What would you like me to do with the vessel? Shall I smite them both?”

“No!” Dean wasn’t sure why he had even opened his mouth. He could feel Cas’s eyes boring into the side of his head. “Uh, she was brainwashed. We’ll hand her over to the human authorities and they can deal with her.”

“As you wish.” Marut put a hand on Crowley’s forehead, and almost instantly, black smoke poured from Kenna’s mouth. With a hissing, screeching sound, the smoke disappeared into the floor, leaving only a scorched circle behind. Kenna dropped to the ground in a heap and didn’t move. Cas’s legs gave out, and he would’ve joined Kenna on the floor if it hadn’t been for Sam and Dean grabbing his arms and holding him up, supporting his weight between them.

“Cas - you okay?” Sam glanced across at Dean, worry etched on his face.

“Yes, I believe I will be. I’m just--” he paused and looked down at his body. “--human now.”

“Castiel, I wish there was something I could do for you. But it seems as though all of your grace was burnt up in that spell.” Marut was looking at Cas with something like tenderness. Dean tightened his grip on Cas’s bicep, feeling weirdly possessive.

“I’ll be fine. It has happened before. I’ll get used to it.” Dean didn’t think Cas was even convincing himself, but decided not to push it.

“In that case, I will return to Heaven, and leave this boy to you. I am not fond of being on Earth, as you know. But even with this... unpleasantness, I am pleased to have seen you.”

“I feel the same, Marut.”

Dean watched this exchange with something like morbid fascination.

_Who is this guy? What the hell happened between them?_

But before he could ask for some backstory, bright white light started appearing around the edges of Jack’s eyes and nose.

“Dean! Sam! Close your eyes!”

“You too, dumbass!” Dean reached up and placed his hand over Cas’s eyes, as he and Sam squeezed theirs shut. The high-pitched whining sound was back, and the white light seared their eyelids. The wind whirled around them, blowing the rain sideways. They were all soaked to the bone. And then, darkness. The storm was still raging, but Dean thought it seemed a little less fierce. He opened one eye slightly, and saw Jack swaying slightly on his feet in front of them. His hand left Cas’s face and shot out to grasp Jack’s arm.

“Shit - not you too. Are you okay kid?”

Jack nodded. “He’s gone. And don’t worry - I was awake the whole time. I wasn’t in any pain.”

Sam let go of Cas’s arm and stepped forward to smother Jack in a massive bear hug. Over his little brother’s shoulder, Dean saw Jack’s face break into a wide grin. But then, out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught a flurry of movement. It was Kenna. She was in the middle of discarding her black robes on the floor when she realized he’d seen her. She froze for a split second, and then ran through the debris and out into the forest on the other side of the house. Suddenly Cas wasn’t leaning on Dean’s arm anymore.

“Dean! We can’t let her get away! I’m not strong enough--” But Dean was already running after her, following the copper smudge of her hair into the dark shadows of the forest.


	11. The Rain Song

_ Talk, talk, talk, talk - I've felt the coldness of my winter _

_ I never thought it would ever go. I cursed the gloom that set upon us, 'pon us, 'pon us... _

_ But I know that I love you so. But I know that I love you so _

_ These are the seasons of emotion and like the wind they rise and fall _

_ This is the wonder of devotion - I see the torch we all must hold. _

_ This is the mystery of the quotient, quotient - Upon us all, upon us all a little rain must fall. _

_ It's just a little rain oh yeah _

 

_ Well ain’t this peachy. As if I wasn’t wet enough already. _

Dean was running down the path at the back of the house. He could barely see anything in front of him through the driving rain. He gripped the Colt tightly in his hand. He couldn’t lose Kenna in the trees. The pines were thick behind Boleskine House, and this was Kenna’s home territory. To Dean, it looked like every other damn forest he’d ever seen. But he couldn’t let her get away. So he kept running, homing in like a laser on Kenna’s red hair as she dashed through the trees.

But the unnatural storm had done a lot of damage. Massive trees had been uprooted, and were now lying across the ground, creating a dangerous obstacle course. The ground beneath his feet wasn’t solid, and Dean kept slipping and nearly losing his boots in the mud. But just ahead of him, he could see Kenna struggling too. At least the storm she started would slow her down. Every once in a while, she would look back to check how close he was getting. Then she would turn back and keep running.

It was starting to get dark and Dean could barely see a few feet in front of him in the gloom. Water ran down his face in rivulets, and every layer he was wearing, including the green sweater, was soaked through. He kept going. The forest floor was like a river of thick, heavy mud. He was breathing hard now, but he was gaining on her.

“Kenna!” She didn’t react, but Dean thought he heard a peal of laughter echoing back through the trees.

Dean climbed over a large tree trunk and barely stopped in time to keep himself from falling straight into a steep gully on the other side of it. He looked around wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of Kenna. Then he heard a noise. A deep cracking sound, like the earth was cracking open. And then it did. The ground gave way beneath his feet and he fell. Swept away by an overwhelming force, he fell down, down, until something soft and wet caught him. And then, he sank.

***

There were sharp pointy things digging into his skin. He was confused about why everything was so wet. He couldn’t move. He’d lost his gun somewhere. All he could see in the dimness were the tops of pine trees, silhouetted against the charcoal sky. And then Dean remembered where he was. He must have blacked out for a few seconds. Then he felt himself moving. He was sinking.

_ Shit. That was a mudslide. _

And now he was stuck. Kenna had gotten away and he couldn’t move his arms to get his phone out of his jacket pocket, not that it was even working anyway. Could cell phones survive being covered in mud? He looked around - there was no sign of anyone. He could only see the upper part of his chest - everything else was buried under the viscous mud. He started to struggle, but only managed to make himself sink further into the mud. His chest was buried now, and he could feel the cold mud rising up his neck.

“SAM!” Dean screamed as loud as he could, but it was hard to get enough air into his lungs.

_ Don’t panic. They’ll come looking for you. _

Minutes passed, Dean wasn’t sure how many. It was still raining, but the heavy, stinging drops had softened into a thick drizzle. He was alone, in the middle of nowhere in Scotland, about to be buried alive in a mudslide. So much for going out in a blaze of glory. He wasn’t even going to get to say goodbye to Sam, or Jack. He always said he hated goodbyes anyway. Maybe it was better this way. At least Jack would still have Sam and Cas to look out for him. He’d be in good hands.

When the mud had reached his chin, he couldn’t help thinking about Cas. He’d waited too long to pull his head out of his ass. And when Cas was finally brave enough to make a move, Dean messed that up too. He’d thought he wasn’t ready, that he’d never be ready for whatever was going to happen between them. And now it was too late. He was going to die in this stupid forest and there was nothing he could do about it. The mud was in his mouth, in his nose. He started coughing and spluttering, thrashing his limbs as much as he could. It didn’t work. So Dean closed his eyes and started to pray.

“DEAN!”

Dean’s eyes snapped open. Out of the gloom a solid form appeared, some way up the slope, which was now just a mess of tree roots, mud, and rocks. Dean squinted in the dim light, trying to keep his nose and mouth above the mud. Cas. It was Cas.

“Cas! Over here!”

Cas spotted him and started scrambling down the side of the chasm that had been opened up by the mudslide. He picked his way gingerly through knotted roots and fallen rocks until he found a stable place a few feet away from Dean’s head.

“Cas! I can’t move - I’m sinking!”

Cas nodded grimly. “Can you get your arm out of the mud? Enough for me to grab it?”

“I think so.” Dean concentrated all of his energy on lifting his right arm. It was like moving through tar, but eventually a few fingers appeared and Cas reached out and took them in his hand. Crouching down, he braced himself on a large rock and pulled Dean’s arm with all of his strength. Even without his grace, Cas wasn’t exactly a weakling. Dean found a rock with his other hand and used it as leverage to push himself toward Cas.

After a lot of grunting and straining, Dean managed to pull his lower half out of the mud and up onto Cas’s rock. Cas was still gripping his arm, and Dean collapsed against him. He was completely covered in sticky mud, and Cas still wasn’t wearing a shirt, but it didn’t matter. The relief hit him like a tidal wave and Dean started to shake. He curled up into a ball across Cas’s lap, wrapping his arms around himself.

Cas silently cradled Dean’s head and shoulders in his arms. Heat radiated from his bare skin, even though he’d been half-naked for hours. Dean was too focused on being happy he hadn’t drowned in a mudslide to worry about what touching Cas like this meant. All that mattered was that they were alive, and together. He shut his eyes and pressed himself closer to Cas’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, as the storm finally let up.

Eventually Dean looked up at Cas. The angel was examining him earnestly, like he always did. “Are you alright, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas. Thanks for the rescue.”

“It was my pleasure. But you should have waited for me. I can still help, you know.”

Dean chuckled, and lifted a mud-covered hand to cup Cas’s jaw. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a frown.

“Dean, you don’t have to-”

“Shut up, Cas.”

Dean’s hand moved around the back of Cas’s neck, and gently Dean pulled his face down towards his. He kept his eyes locked on Cas’s, not wanting to break away from their blue depths. They steadied him, as he took his first, and last, step into the abyss. When their lips touched for the first time, Cas let out a low whimper, and the sound sent chills down Dean’s spine. He had wanted this for so long, and the rush of letting himself have it made him almost lightheaded. For a while, they stayed like that, lips pressed together, almost in awe of what they were finally doing. Then Cas ran his tongue tentatively along Dean’s upper lip, and Dean responded by gently nipping Cas’s bottom lip with his teeth. And he was lost in the sweet taste of happiness, in the sensation of being exactly where he wanted to be.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting slightly. Dean pushed himself up to a sitting position facing Cas. He had to get this out. “I’m sorry, buddy. For being such a dumbass. About this.”

Cas gave Dean one of his rare smiles. “I’m used to it.”

“Come on man, I almost died,” Dean playfully punched Cas’s shoulder, then reached up to wipe a smudge of mud off his cheek. Cas grabbed his hand, pulling Dean in for another kiss. This time they went slowly, taking their time to get used to the shape of each other. Their lips and tongues slid together as shivers of pleasure ran through Dean’s body. Heat was already building between his legs. It wasn’t enough - he needed to be closer. Before Cas could react, Dean straddled his lap, getting on his knees and positioning his legs on either side of Cas’s thighs, which were surprisingly thick. Dean lowered himself down gently until there was no daylight between their hips, with only his boxers and jeans and Cas’s boxers and suit pants keeping them apart. Dean smirked at the look of pure shock on Cas’s face. He could get used to seeing it this close.

“This is better, dontcha think?”

“Yes, yes it is--” Cas was responding eagerly when a peal of laughter interrupted them.

Dean whipped his head around to see Kenna standing on a rock a few feet away from them. And in her hand, pointed straight at his back, was his gun.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty picture. I had no idea you two fellas were sweet on each other. Of course, it was kinda hard to tell when I was on Dean like he’s on you.”

Dean glanced back at Cas, and saw a shadow pass over his face. His eyes darkened, and his mouth, which had just a second ago been soft and warm, hardened into a thin line.

_ That’s his smitey face. _

Dean stood up slowly, but not before sneaking a quick look into Cas’s eyes to reassure him. He nodded imperceptibly in response. Dean faced Kenna. Behind him, he felt Cas get up too, and come to stand next to him. Their hands touched briefly and for once Dean didn’t move his hand away.

“So which one of you handsome lads should I shoot first? After all, you ruined my plan and sent my master back to Hell. I killed my own sister for less.” Kenna cocked the gun.

Before Dean could even open his mouth to try and talk her out of it, there was movement at his side. Cas leapt across the mud between the two rocks, hurling his entire weight at Kenna. Dean watched in horror as they went down hard into the mud. They writhed together as Cas tried to grab the gun. And then. A gunshot rang out into the silence of the woods.

“Cas!”


	12. Ten Years Gone

_Do you ever remember me, baby,_   
_Did it feel so good?_   
_'Cause it was just the first time,_   
_And you knew you would_   
_Dewy eyes now sparkle, senses growing keen_   
_Taste your love along the way, see your feathers preen_   
_Kind of makes me feel sometimes, didn't have to grow_   
_We are eagles of one nest, the nest is in our soul_

Dean scrambled gingerly across the hardening mud to where Cas was lying on top of Kenna. Holding his breath, Dean reached out to grab Cas’s arm. It seemed like an eternity before Cas moved, but he did. He looked down at his hand, which was holding the gun between his and Kenna’s torsos. Bright red blood was pooling between them.

“Cas - dammit! Are you okay?”

Cas looked up at him, eyes wide. “I’m fine, Dean. I shot her. She’s dead.”

“Don’t ever do that again!” Dean’s limbs loosened with relief.

Cas frowned and squinted up at him. “I’m not useless, Dean. I might be human now but I can still fight.”

Dean reached down to help him up. Together they looked down at Kenna’s body. Her flame-red hair was fanned out around her head like a fiery halo.

“What should we do with her?”

“Well, pretty sure the local police aren’t gonna believe she was possessed by a demon. Maybe the mud is still soft enough…” Dean gently nudged Kenna’s body off the rock and into the mud with his foot. Her body rolled easily into the mud and down the slope a little ways. There, just like Dean had, she started to sink. He hoped wherever Isla was, she could find some peace now.

One problem solved, but Cas’s bare torso was still covered in blood. Dean looked down at his own mud-soaked clothes. Cas watched wordlessly as Dean took off his jacket, and then the green sweater underneath. He handed it to Cas, who pulled it over his head. Dean put his jacket back on and made a show of checking Cas out, from head to toe. He didn’t have to hide it anymore. Cas was hot and he was damn well going to appreciate it now.

Cas blushed. “Is it alright? I think I prefer it on you. Although it may be unwearable now.”

“Nah, we’ll clean it up. And you look... damn good. Now let’s get Sam and Jack and go home.”

As they climbed up the rugged slope together, the first rays of warm summer afternoon sun came streaming out from behind the retreating storm clouds.

***  
Sam and Jack were waiting for them back at the inn. Dean threw open the door to his and Sam’s shared room and, when he saw Jack jump up from the noisy green sofa, practically ran to crush the kid in a hug. Sam hugged Cas and eventually all four of them were covered in mud and grinning stupidly at each other. The relief at the end of a successful hunt was almost like a drug. Dean had tasted it so many times, but this time, it was different. He was so damn glad to see that kid.

“Dean - are you okay? Why is Cas covered in blood? I’m so sorry - I just wanted to help. I didn’t mean to ruin our family vacation--” Jack rambled until Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Jack promptly stopped and looked up at Dean sheepishly.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya, kid? It wasn’t your fault. You did good. Long story short - I got stuck in a mudslide, Cas found me, Kenna tried to shoot us both, and then Cas did a dumbass thing and took her out. Let’s just say she won’t be summoning any more demons. And we’re damn lucky that angel turned out to be a friend of Cas’s,” Dean said, turning to the former angel beside him. “Someday you’re gonna tell me that story, right?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas sighed, with a mixture of annoyance and affection that made Dean’s stomach flip like a teenage girl’s.

“We made a good team, today,” Sam said, stretching his long frame out on one of the beds.

“Yeah we did. But don’t get too comfy - we gotta get out of here before someone finds those bodies up at the house. Won’t be too long before they figure out we had something to do with it.”

“Jack - come with me. Let’s pack up our things.” Cas nodded at Dean and led Jack out of the room. Once they were gone, Dean started throwing his scattered belongings into his duffel. Sam did the same, but Dean noticed him glancing over every now and then.

“You got somethin’ to say, Sammy?”

“No, Dean. Do you?”

So it was going to be like that. Dean sighed, zipped his duffle shut, and swung it over his shoulder. He walked to the door, then turned around and faced his little brother.

“Listen, I don’t really wanna talk about it, but me and Cas, we uh, we’re good now. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but we might be, you know, ah--” Dean ran his hand nervously through his hair, struggling to get the words out.

But it didn’t matter. Sam was looking at him with a big dumb grin on his face and all Dean wanted to do was run out the door and never come back. But he didn’t. He stood there while his nerd brother beamed at him like an idiot. Dean had always known in an abstract kind of way that Sam would be fine with him being bi, and fine with him being with Cas. But there was a difference between knowing in theory and knowing for real. It was scary because now it was real. Dean had also always known he could never be with someone Sam wasn’t okay with. Lucky he’d fallen for someone who was basically Sam’s best friend already.

“Alright, bitch, quit it before I punch that shit-eating grin right off your face. Let’s go home.”

“Okay jerk. Just so you know, I’m happy you finally figured it out. Cas has been pining for a damn long time. Dude’s patient, I’ll give him that.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Now where’s the car key? I’m not letting you drive that tin can back to Edinburgh.”

***

It was a relief to see the flat plains of Kansas and feel the cool calm of the bunker after their failed vacation. Jack had chattered nonstop on the way back about what it was like being possessed by an angel. He’d also asked Sam, Dean, and Cas what it had been like for them, and they’d all awkwardly and vaguely mumbled in response. There were nowhere near enough tiny bottles of alcohol for that conversation.

They got back to the bunker after the marathon journey and went their separate ways. Sam hugged Dean and Cas, giving them both big wet puppy dog eyes. Dean practically had to threaten violence to get him to stop. Eventually he stopped patting them each on the back and saying how happy he was for them, and went to collapse in his room. If Jack was curious about what was going on, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he went straight to the library to research any other cases of a nephilim being possessed by another angel. Leaving Dean and Cas alone for the first time since they’d left Scotland.

Dean had been dreading it. Not that he didn’t want to be alone with Cas - he’d had a hard time not imagining all the things he wanted to do once they were alone again. But there would have to be talking, probably about feelings, which was Dean’s least favorite kind of talking. So they stood facing each other in the map room, neither of them saying anything, until it got to be too much for Dean. He cleared his throat.

“Hey man, I gotta wash off some of this road dirt. I’m gonna, uh, go take a shower and then sleep for a hundred years, maybe.”

“Of course, Dean. Now that I’m human I suppose I’ll have to get used to sleeping again. And eating. Perhaps I’ll go make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“Okay, uh, see ya later then.”

Dean almost tripped over his own feet as he turned and headed down the hallway towards the bunker’s cavernous bathroom. He dumped his duffel on the tiled floor and started stripping off his layers. The clothes he had been wearing in the mudslide had gotten tossed in a dumpster on the way to the airport, all except for the green sweater. He made a mental note to take it to Lebanon’s one dry cleaner. Not that he’d be able to wear it for a few months - summer in Kansas wasn’t exactly wool sweater weather. But still, he wanted to be sure he could wear it again as soon as it got chilly. Weirdly, Dean hadn’t seen Cas’s ubiquitous trench coat since they had left Scotland either. Not that he was sad to see it go.

Dean stepped into the shower and turned the ancient tap. He let out an involuntary groan as the hot water pounded his skin. The problem wasn’t so much that he had kissed Cas. He’d been wanting to do that for a long time. But what was going to happen now? Dean knew he wasn’t great at the domestic side of things. And Cas was human now...what if he felt differently without his grace? As much as Dean wished he could just kiss Cas again and ignore everything else, Cas wasn’t some random waitress at a diner. This was something he’d never let himself believe he could have. The chances of him messing it up were pretty high.

Dean was still lost in thought as he dried himself off. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he padded silently down the hall, past Sam’s snoring, and opened the door to his room, looking forward to spending time in his own space, surrounded by his own stuff. He nearly dropped the towel from his hips when he stepped into the gloom and there was Cas, sitting on the end of his bed, bathed in the light from the hallway, all chiselled cheekbones and perfectly ruffled hair. Dean opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. Cas stood up and walked towards him.

“I was thinking, Dean, that perhaps you might like some company while you were sleeping for a hundred years.”

_Is he-- flirting with me?_

Sometimes Dean’s life was too surreal even for him. There was an actual real-live angel of the Lord in his bedroom, coming onto him. It was wrong and hot and immediately all thoughts of emotional confessions left Dean’s brain. Instead he let his eyes roam over Cas’s body. This part, he knew how to do. He smirked and closed the bedroom door behind him.

“Cas, if you’re gonna spend that much time in my bedroom, I guarantee we ain’t just gonna sleep.”

Dean was rewarded by the sight of Cas’s cheeks turning bright pink. Another perk of Cas’s newfound humanity. This was going to be fun. But then his blue eyes darkened, he took a hesitant step back, and his usual somber expression was back in place. He took a deep breath.

“Dean, I know that your most recent sexual experience took place without your full consent, and I don’t want you to feel pressured or obligated in any way. I only want this if you want this.”

Cas was always looking out for him. Even in this moment when everything was about to change between them, he still wanted to make sure Dean was okay. Dean was surprised to feel tears welling up in his eyes. He had been feeling a little on edge about what Kenna did to him, not that he wanted to talk about it. But this? This felt good. It felt safe. Dean blinked the tears away.

“Thanks buddy, uh, it means a lot. But I want this. As long as you’re sure...I know things are different for you now.”

“No, Dean, nothing is different for me. Perhaps the range of sexual activities we could engage in is more limited without my grace, but I have been assured that humans still manage to enjoy themselves, even without divine assistance.” Cas came closer to Dean again as he said this, and Dean gulped as electricity crackled between them. He let his towel drop to the floor, and there was nothing else, only the two of them.

Dean was nervous. His heart was pounding. He’d been with plenty of women, and the idea of being with a man didn’t scare him, not the mechanics of it, but that didn’t make the reality any less nerve-wracking. Plus, it was Cas. He could fuck this up for good and then boom. No more sex, no more best friend. Dean took in a shaky breath and trained his eyes on the floor. Normally he was fine with making the first move. But this time, there was so much at stake. The cool bunker air was giving him goosebumps. Or maybe that was the fear. Then, he felt a warm hand cupping his cheek.

“Dean.” Dean could listen to Cas saying his name on a loop forever. This time there was a hint of a question in his gravelly baritone, and Dean raised his head to meet Cas’s eyes. The dark pools of sapphire steadied him, like they always had. If he hadn’t known Cas’s angel powers were gone, Dean could’ve sworn there were hot pulses of energy emanating from Cas’s hand into his skin. Once he was sure Dean was calm, Cas’s eyes roamed down Dean’s body, taking in his nakedness. Dean didn’t feel self-conscious anymore. All that mattered was getting Cas’s clothes off.

Once he had clumsily and hurriedly dispatched with Cas’s blue tie, not-so-white shirt, suit pants, and boxers, Dean couldn’t hold himself back. He surged forward to kiss Cas again like he’d been wanting to since they left Loch Ness. They tumbled onto the bed together, and the shock of feeling Cas’s naked body under his was exhilarating. Whatever nerves Dean had been feeling disappeared the first time his swollen cock rubbed against Cas’s. The sensation of skin on skin sent a shiver of pleasure racing down his spine. As their lips and tongues moved against each other, Cas kept one hand on the back of Dean’s head, occasionally tugging on his hair.  
Dean eventually let his mouth wander down to Cas’s neck, where he inhaled deeply as he planted gentle kisses on soft skin. Dean had never really noticed how Cas smelled before, but it was a heady mix of pine and thunderstorm. It took him straight back to their first kiss in the forest. He breathed in again, closing his eyes and trying to commit the scent to memory. Cas chuckled, a rumbling sound low in his chest that made Dean’s throb in appreciation.

“Are you sniffing me, Dean?” Cas was looking down at him with a curious half-smile.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Dean huffed. Cas didn’t need to be told twice.

They found a rhythm, after Dean shifted his position and reached down between them to line up their cocks. With his first, tentative thrust into Cas’s hips, Dean was rewarded by the sight of Cas throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned. Dean couldn’t get enough of how filthy the sounds coming out of the former angel’s mouth were, so he kept going. Heat spread throughout his body, responding to every touch, every drag of Cas’s lips across his skin, every thrust. They fit together perfectly, like each indentation, each curve, each angle, had been perfectly formed for this purpose.

Dean couldn’t hold back for long. And it seemed like Cas couldn’t either, because soon he was desperately clinging to Dean’s shoulder with one hand, while the other was wrapped around their cocks and pumping them together. “Dean-- DEAN!” Cas cried hoarsely into Dean’s neck. “Hnnngghhgh--” was all Dean managed to reply before he came. He looked down to see warm spurts of liquid decorating Cas’s stomach.

Cas was still going, working his own cock as he licked and nipped at the sensitive skin behind Dean’s ear. “I want to know what you taste like,” he whispered. Dean was sure he hadn’t heard right in his post-orgasmic haze. He looked at Cas questioningly. “Please-- Dean, I can actually taste you now,” Cas’s eyes were pleading as his hand moved frantically on his cock. So Dean reached down between them and swiped his forefinger through a bit of still-warm cum on Cas’s hipbone. Dean brought it slowly up to his waiting mouth, and inserted it in, wiping his finger on Cas’s pink tongue. Cas’s spit-slicked lips closed around Dean’s finger, a sight so sinful Dean’s cock twitched, even though he couldn’t possibly be ready again. Cas must’ve liked the taste, because his blue eyes widened, and he let go of Dean’s finger to cry out. Then it was Dean’s turn to get covered in cum as Cas’s cock pulsed over and over.

They stayed like that for a while, breathing heavily, looking at each other in wonder. Dean half-heartedly grabbed Cas’s discarded boxers to clean up the mess, but eventually his arms gave out and he collapsed onto Cas’s chest, resting his head over his heart. Their breaths slowed and Dean felt the exhaustion finally taking over. Before he lost himself in it, he lifted his head to look up at Cas, already fast asleep in Dean’s bed.


	13. Thank You

_If the sun refused to shine,_   
_I would still be loving you._   
_When mountains crumble to the sea,_   
_There will still be you and me._

Dean didn’t know how long they slept, but when he finally woke up with the warmth of another person next to him for the first time in a very long time, he thought he must’ve had another vivid dream. But then he became aware of Cas’s limbs intertwined with his own, the slight stickiness on his abdomen, and the quiet sound of Cas’s steady breathing, and he knew it was real.

In the dim light from his desk lamp, which they’d forgotten to turn off before falling asleep, Dean studied the former angel’s face. Its usual sharp angles and deep shadows had softened in sleep, and Cas’s eyelashes rested gently above his cheekbones. A rush of nerves hit Dean’s stomach. How on earth was he, Dean Winchester, king of all the fuck-ups, going to keep himself from utterly ruining this perfection?

He stayed still for a while, just watching Cas sleep, and then chuckled to himself when he realized he was doing the same thing Cas used to do to him, only he always used to say it was creepy. Looking back, he hadn’t actually minded that much. The gentle movement of Dean’s amusement made Cas stir, and eventually he opened his eyes, treating Dean to an extreme close-up of the blue eyes that had practically hypnotized him the first time he ever saw them. A slow smile spread across Cas’s face, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back, even though he was pretty sure they looked like a couple of idiots.

“Mornin’ sunshine. How was your first night of human sleep in my room?”

Cas frowned. “I’m not sure I can answer that, since I was asleep the whole time.”

Dean playfully shoved his arm. “That’s a good sign, nerd.”

“Well then, I thoroughly enjoyed it. And everything that came before it.”

That made Dean feel a little shy, which was weird considering what they had been doing just a few short hours ago. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to do the whole morning after thing. Too many complications, no point in getting someone tangled up in his and Sam’s chaos. It had seemed easier, kinder even, to make a quick break. At least that’s how Dean always justified it to himself. But this was Cas. He was already tangled up. And he was currently in Dean’s bed, watching him like he was the most precious, fascinating thing he had ever seen. They were going to have to talk about what came next. But first, Dean was pretty sure he had some apologies to make.

“Listen, buddy, I’m sorry for what I said back in Scotland. I was… scared. I didn’t think I could ever have this.”

Cas reached up to cup Dean’s cheek. “I know, Dean. Don’t forget-- I know you about as well as anyone.”

“Hang on, there’s more. I’m also sorry for running straight to the first hot bartender I found. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Dean, I have loved you since before I met you in that barn. Since I saw your shining soul in Hell. Nothing else matters. We’re here, together. I’m not going anywhere, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Dean swallowed. This was a lot. But he was finally ready to admit he wanted it.

“Don’t even think about leaving. You’re stuck with me. Plus, you’re human. Who else is gonna put up with you when you’re old and even grumpier than you are now?” Dean leaned in and softly pressed his lips to Cas’s. “Now let’s go get some breakfast.”

****

About an hour later, Dean and Cas walked sheepishly into the bunker’s kitchen. Sam and Jack were sitting at the table, heads bent together, engrossed in some ancient text. Sam looked up as Dean and Cas came through the doorway, and it looked like the googly eyes might be making another appearance, but he caught himself and kept his expression neutral. Jack didn’t seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Dean cleared his throat. He and Cas had decided to just confront this thing head on, and get it over with. But before he could start, Jack piped up excitedly.

“Hey Dean! Hey Cas! Sam and I have been doing some research and we found one other documented case of an angel possessing a nephilim from 500 years ago--”

Dean interrupted him before he could really get going. “Uh, yeah, that’s great, Jack, but uh, Cas and me, we need to talk to you.”

“Oh, yes, of course, Dean.” Jack turned his full attention on Dean, who was still standing awkwardly in the doorway next to Cas.

“When we were in Scotland, you see, some stuff happened. And now uh, we’re kind of--”

“Together. Jack, we’re together,” Cas finished, much to Dean’s relief.

“Oh okay, that’s great. I mean, I kind of thought you already were? But I’m glad you two figured it out! I’m happy for you.” Jack gave them a megawatt smile and went back to chattering about his and Sam’s research. Dean looked at Cas, dumbfounded. So everyone knew except him. Cas shrugged, slid his fingers through Dean’s and squeezed. It was going to be okay.

A while later, over a huge stack of pancakes slathered with maple syrup and several pounds of bacon, the conversation eventually turned to their vacation. Jack had taken dozens of photos of Loch Ness on his phone, but there was still no monster to be seen. He and Sam were examining them closely. Cas was stuffing his face with pancakes, his human appetite finally having caught up with him. Dean got up and went into the library to turn on the sound system, such as it was. He picked out one of his Led Zeppelin albums and put it on the ancient record player. Soon the strains of Jimmy Page’s guitar were floating through the bunker.

Dean went back to the kitchen, sat down next to Cas, and shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth. He held Cas’s hand under the table and looked around at his family. “So, whaddaya think? Where should we go for our next vacation?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, but grinned. “I don’t think we should go on vacation ever again.”

Cas laughed, and Dean thought it was probably his favorite sound.


End file.
